


[Cataclysmic Variable]

by RazelKorr



Series: [Dualist] [2]
Category: Magic: The Gathering
Genre: ChaoticDouchebag, Gen, Original Character(s), Original Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 59,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RazelKorr/pseuds/RazelKorr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incidents depicted in [Night of Rime], Razel finds himself forced to cope with not only the shortsightedness of his own actions, but also a firey condition that threatens to explosively end him at any time. With the help of the Vampire Mistress Ophelia, he seeks anwers and assistance before he goes off for a final time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Administrative Report_

_Re: The “Almucantara Incident”_

_Filed by Tessellate Clerical Function BA42_

_Metric Year 654-067-015_

_Overview:_

_On MY 654-067-013, two of our investigators were dispatched to Almucantara to investigate reports of Planeswalking activity. Agents Tiern and Mokk located the planeswalker in question, but an anomalous phenomenon resulted in the death of Agent Tiern and a severe wounding of Mokk, who survived long enough to relay his account before his own death hours later._

_Background:_

_We had received information regarding possible Planeswalking activity on the plane of Almucantara. A settlement built at the top of a plateau had recently suffered from an increase in unusual complaints, most from a tavern central to the village.  A Patron/Traveler was reported to have been drinking anomalously large quantities of liquor and ranting nonsensically about things that did not exist. Our investigatory team was dispatched to verify the authenticity of the claims and to gauge whether or not we would respond, as well as the degree of response._

_Incident:_

_Approximately halfway through the local day on MY 654-067-013 our two investigators arrived at Almucantara. Their manner of dress was inconspicuous and their presence went unnoticed by the local population. Approximately half an hour later, they arrived at the bar. Below is a transcription of Mokk’s debriefing, as well as my notes regarding our follow-up investigation presented in line for clarity._

_“Tiern went in before me. The ‘walker was at the far end of the bar, with space around him from the patrons keeping away. I didn’t ever get a proper look at his face. Tiern and I made our way to the end of the bar, sitting a seat or two down from him. I was here, Tiern was here, and he was here.”_

_[At this time he indicated roughly their seating arrangement, which we verified as follows:_

_(Mokk)-(Tiern)-(Empty)-(Empty)-(‘Walker)_

_Tiern was between Mokk and the Walker for the majority of the incident. Our attempts to extract the memories regarding the ‘walker yielded at best a grainy approximation. Recommend increasing the emphasis on training our Investigators to memorize details, or utilize some sort of recording device to ensure we are not relying on second hand information.]_

_“The ‘Walker was obviously intoxicated, which is something I hadn’t thought possible.”_

_[This comment implies certain things about the physiology of the planeswalker. Mokk is referencing the lesser known potential for some ‘walkers with a solvent-type energy to be capable of true intoxication. Based on our tests at the scene, we have narrowed the possible constituent energies to those of either Island heritage or Winter heritage, possibly both. Large swaths of black mana were found to have erupted at the scene, suggesting a darker aspect as well.]_

_“He was mumbling to himself with words I couldn’t comprehend. That surprised me too.”_

_[Our standard-issue multiversal speech has yet to falter, meaning that the ‘walker was not truly ‘speaking’ to himself, but rather that he was emotionally compromised to the point of unintelligible noise. The ‘walker appeared to have recently suffered a trauma of some kind, which was corroborated by further eyewitness testimony regarding the nature of his previous ranting. This explains his mental state at the time of our investigators’ arrival.]_

_“Tiern ordered drinks for us and had me slyly activate my Lock. We just sat there for a bit, listening to him whimper. I only made out a few words. ‘Azor’. ‘Why’. ‘Ott’. Nothing worthwhile.”_

_[The usage of the word ‘Azor’ shows a connection to the city plane of Ravnica, where the ‘Azorius’ guild regulates the legal proceedings of the plane. We have a cell within the city’s tenth district – recommend we run this report by their captain and obtain a statement.]_

_“Tiern spoke to him, saying something like ‘What’s wrong, friend?’ He either ignored us or didn’t hear us, so Tiern tried again. When he went to put his hand on the ‘walker’s shoulder, the mumbling stopped. Next thing I know, the ‘Walker has scrambled off his stool and into the corner between the bar and the wall. He’s huddled down, looking like a scared child. I don’t think he was all there.”_

_[Eyewitnesses report seeing the walker ‘vibrate unnaturally’ at the moment Tiern touched him. This was more than likely him attempting to planeswalk and being unable, which would explain his reaction. The comparison to a ‘scared child’ was also made by witnesses, and was more than likely due to the gross amounts of intoxicants in his system.]_

_“Soon as I stood up, he bolted. He didn’t get halfway to the door when he tripped over something on the floor and collapsed, hurting himself.”_

_[The available testimony conflicts with Mokk’s interpretation. The ‘Walker is described as having ‘fled for the door with fear in his eyes’. Halfway to the door, as indicated, he collapsed. One account says that his face contorted in pain before he fell. Our follow up failed to find anything that would have tripped the ‘walker in the location specified, although the debris may have knocked any theoretical obstruction away.]_

_“We stood on either side of him, looking down. He was pretty pathetic. Tiern started talking again. “You aren’t from around here, are you?” That whole speech. Trying to suggest we could help him if he comes with us.”_

_[Based on his reaction to the Lock, we can assume that the ‘Walker at the very least has had experience with the phenomenon before. One account also mentions specifically “Once the other guy said ‘come with us’, his eyes got all wide”. At this, the ‘Walker may have had experience with the Academy directly. Recommend combing our database for any Liabilities matching this description.]_

_“He screamed. Nothing specific, just ‘AAAUUUUGHGH’. He started clawing at his shoulders, almost like he wanted to peel his own skin off. I felt the first pulse then. Like a wave of power, radiating from him. It was overwhelming and horrifying at the same time. Tiern and I looked to each other. We knew he hadn’t meant to do that.”_

_[How they know this isn’t made expressly clear, although the conclusion appears to be valid. Witnesses also mention a pulse of energy, telling us that it was of power enough to be felt by those who lack the required senses.]_

_“Then there was another one. And another. They started getting stronger. By this point people had already begun to flee, leaving the three of us alone in the place. The pulses kept coming. A bolt of energy shot out of him and tore through the ceiling above, raining dust on us. Tiern and I started backing away.”_

_[Locals claim that the Bolt came from above the building, and not below. The lack of further eyewitnesses inside the bar clouds this point, although both may be accurate.]_

_“He pulsed harder, shoving both us and the furniture back. Tiern let out one of his shadow blades, which did absolutely nothing. The blade was swallowed by some invisible aura, turning to a black fog as it got too close.”_

_[While the catalog of magical interactions is far from complete, Tiern’s file indicates that the spell in question was a compressed arc of void, the nothingness made solid by his willpower. To dissolve a mental construct in the manner indicated would require an exorbitant amount of energy, not accounting for the suggestion that it was a static ‘field’.]_

_“The next one knocked us off our feet. Good thing too, since that stream of Mana would’ve gutted right through me. We scrambled to get out of the door, resigning ourselves to kill him and be done with it. By the time we got out of the bar, the crowd had already granted the building a large berth. A loud snap-hiss caught our attention, and we looked back into the bar, seeing the ‘walker catch fire. It burned bluer than any fire I had seen naturally. He stood up and started walking towards us, no longer whimpering. Matter of fact, aside from the cracking of his flames, he was silent.”_

_[This gives us our first real clue as to what happened. The color of the flame suggests its intensity, and since it was undoubtedly magical in nature, this also helps us cut possibilities.]_

_“As he walked towards us, he kept pulsing. Tiern yelled at me. ‘KILL THE LOCK! KILL IT!’ I tried to reach for my pouch, realizing that it had been knocked loose and was still in the bar.”_

_[The Lock was later recovered at the same time as Mokk and Tiern’s remains.]_

_“Another pulse knocked out the walls, dropping the top of the bar directly onto the rest of it. The ‘walker emerged from the ruined doorway, blazing like a sun. He looked to me, and I…I ran. I heard something behind me, tried to look back, and blacked out.”_

_The witnesses fill in the rest from there. Once Mokk fled, the ‘Walker stepped toward Tiern and ‘exploded’, vaporizing our investigator. The blast was described as ‘Unnaturally slow’, ‘Like a star coming alive’, and other such hyperbolic statements. The blast radius engulfed most of the settlement, leaving a crater several meters wide of vitrified stone at its center. A massive planar scar, large enough to be utilized as a Planar Gate, floats above this feature. 2/3 of the town was damaged irrevocably by the event. Another 1/8 of the remaining structure requires significant reinforcement. The remainder are all on the outskirts, far from the epicenter. The Scar led directly to the eternities and had no connecting egress. An estimated 1,029 creatures were killed as a result of the incident. This can be increased to 1,030 if we include Mokk._

_Conclusion:_

_Based on the information available, it is undeniable that a planeswalker was on Almucantara. The remaining Scar as well as the nature of the incident makes this painfully clear. Our follow up investigation provided findings consistent with the narrative as read, with the exceptions made evident in my notes. This ‘walker is a Liability of the highest degree. The explosion appears to have been unintentional, and its nature is still a mystery. The accretion, condensation, and expulsion of those levels of power is a danger no matter where the ‘walker may be. We will continue to research this incident and provide updates as we obtain them._

_We cannot afford to let those without control maraud about aimlessly. Recommend assigning a team of Hunters to locate and eliminate the Liability with extreme prejudice._


	2. Vagrant

The jail, externally at least, was unremarkable. Dull red bricks laid together in a wholesome symmetry that simply emphasized how very special the facility isn’t. The guard at the front smirked and nodded at the visitor as she passed, heels clicking against the bare planks laid as flooring. The man in charge of the cells themselves looked up from his book, thoroughly uninterested in being behind his utilitarian desk.

“Name?”

The sultry woman smiled sweetly, clutching her bag while flashing what could be referred to as a deceitful grin.

“Wilhelmina. You can call me Mina. I am here to see the drunk you picked up a couple days ago – I am his fiancée.”

The officer’s face did not nearly look as delighted as the woman’s.  He opened his desk, rifling through paperwork indifferently and tossing a folder at her while he dug for the keys.

“We don’t usually receive visitors for crimes like these, since they get released within the week, but he refuses to go. Somehow he’s still drunk, too. See if you can talk him into freeing up the space. Not that we need it.”

A ring of steel jangled on his finger while he slammed the drawer shut, taking the paperwork briskly and replacing his chair behind his desk. Without comment he turned and led her to the doorway behind. The lock was old, and took a few jiggles to release the tumblers. With a satisfying *click* the mechanism disengaged, revealing the six small cells hosting a single offender. The officer walked up to the last cell on the left, bashing the keys against the bars as Mina glided silkily over. An unkempt vagrant sprawled out on the cot rolled over lazily to peer through a mat of sandy blonde at the arrivals. With his cheek pressed against the bed, he slurred at them.

“Go away.”

The guard chuckled and turned to her.

“Expect that to be the gist of it. That's all we get out of him. I’ll leave you two for a few minutes.”  

He stepped back and slammed the steel grate into the wall as he threw it open.

“In case you get tired of sleeping here.”

The guard trundled back to his desk to allow them a sense of privacy, leaving the door ajar. She straightened her skirt, patting it down blithely while she addressed him.

“I’m here to take you away.”

The mess of hair rolled over again, facing the wall and responding with petulance.

“Don’t care. Go away.”

Her heels clicked louder on the stone as she marched into the cell with him. She felt a distinct sorrow at seeing her friend in this state. Moving over to the cot, she crossed her legs as she lounged beside him.

“Razel…why are you in a cell you know cannot hold you?”

“Lots of reasons. Not getting into it right now. Go away.”

“They’ve _told_ you to leave. Begged you.  The guard asked me to try and convince you. Where is your wanderlust? What’s happened to you?”

“Don’t want to talk about it. I’m not safe to be around so I’m sequestering myself away until I can figure out what’s going on.”

The woman buried her face in her hand, a twinge of exasperation echoing through her skull.

“So drinking away the pain of whatever you experienced is somehow going to grant you nonsensical insight?”

His tone dropped, the reply bitter and tainted with grief.

“I drink to try and keep from knowing their names. I drink so that when I start to burn again, I can leave without hesitation or worry of witnesses. I drink because I can only suppress the drive to act when I can barely _incite_ the same drive.”

“You’re talking cryptically again.”

“It’s because I have a compulsion to answer you, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s like giving you a rude gesture with my words.”

“It’s a wonder you can maintain friendships.”

“I don’t.”

Silence reigned for a long moment. The faint smell of robust liquor wafted from him.

“…that was out of line, I’m sorry. Still, you can’t just sit here and mope. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Razel sighed heavily, turning to face her. His head weighed on his hand, propped up by the scant pillow as he responded.

“I’ll tell you if you can convince me to come with you, in which case I’ll tell you when we get to your place. But not here.”

“How do you suggest I convince you?”

“Do you really think asking someone who has explicitly said he doesn’t want to go with you what you can do _to get them to go with you_ isn’t the least bit suspect?”

“I could make you.”

Razel scoffed, sitting upright and dropping his feet to the floor.

“You could try.”

In a flash she was behind him, her arm caught under his head, locking it in place and restraining him forcibly. Instead of struggling, he failed to fight back, simply allowing her to do as she will with his limbs falling limp. The lack of resistance unnerved her. Instead of taking him away then and there, she got to her feet, pulling a small bottle of orange liquid from her bag as she stepped around him.

“Your bones mentioned bringing you this. You really should give that poor construct something resembling a voice.”

He glared at her and rubbed his neck in exaggeration.

“What are you talking about? He has a perfectly functional means of communication.”

“Razel, he’s a skeleton. Your multiversal empathy means you know what he _means_ , but literally anyone else simply hears ‘clatter clatter clatter’.”

“…I don’t believe you.”

“He showed up at the establishment months ago. Spent the first week trying to mime his intent to the Gatekeepers, who finally ended up killing him only for the skeleton to raise himself and keep miming.”

A faint smile snuck to Razel’s lips as he pictured it. She continued.

“So I’m trying to close our till for the cycle and in come none other than one of my Gatekeepers. Not even a messenger. Obviously, my first question is ‘why aren’t you at your post’.  Then he tells me, and I quote – ‘Madam, there’s a purple-bound skeleton at the gate gesturing madly and refusing to leave.’ I knew it had to be something to do with you.”

He took the glowing potion, draining the draught in a single shot. Drinking was nothing foreign to him. The mixture warmed him from within, searing away the intoxication but leaving a throbbing headache. Razel grimaced but responded regardless.

“Then how did you figure out what he wanted?”

He handed the bottle back to her, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“Oh, I can understand him as well. I’ve always been good at empathy. Once I went out there and actually spoke to him, it became fairly obvious something was wrong. He relayed your little ‘spasm’ and said you wanted to see me, so I came to find you.”

“And here you are.”

“Not right away.”

She held up a hand, counting off the prior stops on her fingers.

“First there was checking your retreat, which was conspicuously empty. I then followed up with your guild, only to hear about a chase you had…with yourself."

She scrunched her face as the memory still failed to make sense.

"Somehow. Then you disappear. Then I follow you to this ‘Foundry’ place and find nothing but barren ash and remnants of Eldrazi magic. It seems that since you sent your house guard to find me, you’ve kept rather busy.”

“Then if you know all this, why ask me?”

“Just because I know the approximation of your activities doesn’t mean I understand them. So I’ll ask you again: why are you hiding, Razel?”

An additional sigh filled the cell once more.

“I’ll tell you later. You raise a valid point, Ophelia.”

Ophelia smiled, looking to him in smug triumph.

“And what would that be?”

“I won’t find any answers at the end of a bottle. Unless it’s fortune liquor. In which case I won’t find any _useful_ information down there.”

“Too true. Shall we?”

A gloved hand reached out to grab Razel’s. Velvet brushed skin as the two collapsed into nonentity, their bodies shunted from the realm towards places impossibly distant. The guard came back to the cell with a glass of steaming drink, grumbling to himself as he shut the door.

“Could’ve at least taken the front exit.”


	3. Bordello

A thick carpet of fog clung sickly to the mire. The soupy mist stopped unwanted visitors from finding their way without assistance, and kept them busy enough to make feeding the patrolling fauna redundant. A void in the fog burst from nonentity, matched by another immediately beside it. Razel and Ophelia stepped into the muck, resolving face-to-face with the two guards at the gate. A small, unremarkable entrance sloped underground, the stairwell within leading to unseen depths below. The two brawny guards stood solemn in their wraps, animated tattoos circling their burly limbs as they both turned to stare intimidatingly at Razel. Ophelia introduced her compatriot to her employees.

“Gents, this is Razel. The Skeleton belongs to him.”

Four eyes narrowed in unison while their irritation became apparent. Their silence was almost confrontational. Razel put a hand to the back of his head and scratched it in embarrassment. They pulled back their partisans, gaze locked on Razel as he followed Ophelia into the dim corridor. Blades slid against each other coarsely as the partisans fell back into place, the closest analogy to a slamming door the mire would manage. Razel broke the awkward quiet.

“So…not much for conversation, are they?”

She nodded and smiled. The walls became smoother as they descended, roughly hewn stone gently softening into sealed tile. Their path cut suddenly into a substantial cavern hosting the building itself. A business establishment in many senses of the word, the Main Section stood front and center of the cave. The architecture would be at home as a storage of currency on any plane, sharp angles set sternly atop thick pillars. Imposing columns supported a large, profane mural depicting various ‘services’ offered within. A slew of secondary attachments filled the rest of the ground floor, from hurried additions and shantytowns to a large tent enclosing the courtyard behind the entrance.  A wall had been erected to separate the entry path and approach from the rest of the establishment, leading all visitors up the front steps and to the reception area.

The regal foyer was built of an exotic ivory-colored stone, the furniture upholstered in a selection of complimentary jewel tones. A tall desk towered over the room from the back of the space, allowing the clerk to watch the entirety of the entrance. Sharp fangs pressed seductively into the impeccably painted lower lip of the secretary, her smile practiced and alluring. The sight of her boss approaching with a male of her own meant that there was a new contract or that he was a friend of hers, either of which usually entailed some manner of celebration. The clerk closed her registry and leaned forward.

“Good evening, Madam. Welcome home. Will you be staying long?”

Ophelia flashed her fangs back in response, explaining through her smirk.

“Not certain. Razel needs some assistance that only I can provide, and you know there’s no timeframe on _that_.”

The rime mage narrowed his eyes, his gaze darting suspiciously between them. The secretary giggled, placing a hand in front of her mouth. She jotted two names into her book before replying.

“Well, we’re glad to have you back, Madam. Your office is prepared as you requested. The expense reports are on your desk.”

Ophelia nodded curtly.

“Thank you, Carolyn. Remember that we’re running our two-for-one on qualified clients.”

“Absolutely. Enjoy your night, Madam.”

Unsure of what to say and still a little disoriented from the headache, Razel scampered behind his host. He voiced his curiosity as they meandered the labyrinthine halls.

“So…what do you have to do to qualify for a twofer?”

“Pay twice what someone else might.”                                                                                 

The response was logically sound. Not wanting a lecture on pricing and economy, least of all with this headache, he let it go. The hallways, while smaller than the Orzhov equivalent, were still affluent in a variety of ways. The opulent class of the front area was quickly lost among the myriad of options further in, with specialty interests and rooms taking up a majority of the building proper.  Innumerable items were set on display pedestals, a collection of curiosities lined in every hall. A muffled explosion crept from behind a sealed door, followed by a wisp of smoke seeping under the seam. A faint ‘Let’s do that AGAIN’ echoed into the hall. Razel grinned.

“I see business is still booming.”

Ophelia nodded her affirmation.

“As always. That’s the benefit to selling something everyone wants.”

“Still taking in refugees?”

She looked round herself, making sure that no wandering ears were within range.

“I don’t make that known outside the house, so let’s keep that topic quiet. Still, yes. There have been many cataclysmic variables lately that have left a lot of people without homes or family. It is as if the multiverse thrives on suffering.”

Razel nodded. He understood the feeling all too well. Their trek came to a halt at an inconspicuous door, the same as the rest in that each was unique. The handle turned itself when Ophelia drew near. Inside, her ‘office’ was set up almost more as a retreat than a place of function. Black tapestries rimmed in red detail hung from the walls. A large pool claimed the middle of the room, sculpted with rocky facets and islands to produce a miniature terrain. An imposing and ornate desk rested facing the doorway, behind the pool and atop the platform against the distant wall. Two shelves bordered the desk, a large display case bridging them behind the chair. The case held an assortment of items, mostly those of greater value than the notions displayed in the halls. Ophelia strode over to her seat, plopping down and kicking off her shoes before turning to face her guest. Razel merely wandered over to the pool and began inspecting the decorative elements.

“So now that we’re in a secure area, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

He nearly ignored her, his response uninterested.

“Because I don’t want to.”

She glared daggers at him.

“You promised to tell me if we were here. Why come with me otherwise?”

“I didn’t promise anything.”

“Stop being intentionally difficult. I’m here to help you.”

Razel ignored the statement and began to fill her in.

“You know of the Academy, yes? Planar Consortium, Keep the multiverse safe, Liability, etcetera etcetera?”

“You’re running from them. I remember.”

“Well, they found me. I left a duplicate to watch my affairs with the Orzhov while I was away, but the duplicate went rampant.”

“Isn’t that why you don’t do that anymore?”

He felt a twinge of irritability, brushing it off and continuing.

“I was panicking. Regardless. I confronted and killed the first Hunter, then inadvertently ran into another. I had to call Eldrazi to consume the plane he was on since he had allied himself with the Phyrexians.”

“He?”

“Rokh. He taught me how to track when I was in the Academy. To get the power to call the Eldrazi, I had to reabsorb my double – which is when the first flare happened and I sent Woodhouse to you.”

“Then you went to ‘Foundry’, killed Rokh, and…what?”

Razel hesitated, the memories stealing his words. His voice grew cold as he began again.

“I…found something. In Rokh’s head. There are Phyrexian Sleepers everywhere, and I know many of their names. One I knew personally, and I was forced to erase her before she became a liability.”

Ophelia frowned heavily at his choice of words. His phrasing was conspicuous.

“After that…?”

Razel shrugged.

“I lost focus. I fled to my retreat, which I shouldn’t have gone to directly, and then I simply…left. I went places. Didn’t care where as long as there was hooch. Until the first real eruption.”

Deciding not to press the emotional trauma that implied, Ophelia pulled out a quill, noting it on a mounted cloth. The words faded as she wrote them.

“Tell me about the eruption. This is what you were talking about, right? The reason you were hiding?”

“Yes. It’s hard to describe, but I went back to see what happened after the fact, and…”

Ophelia gestured for him to continue.

“…and I’ll try to explain. First I spasm. The twitching is involuntary. Then my flesh starts to burn. It gets hotter and hotter until the air around me ignites, then it keeps going until I am covered in enough raw power that it explodes. I black out just before that, but if the crater is any indication then I am not safe to be around in ANY way when that happens. So, I got myself arrested and hid away in a jail cell so that if it happened again, I could leave without witnesses. “

The Madam thought for a few minutes. Her fingers bridged while she stared at him, his attention already moving on to a different aspect of her boudoir as she pondered. She pressed him further.

“What have you done recently that could have affected you?”

He shrugged once more.

“I made and absorbed a duplicate. I was shot by magic arrows. Tainted by the oil for a few minutes. Nothing I haven’t done before.”

Her brow furrowed deeper.

“Well, that’s better than nothing. It’s somewhere for us to start from.”

Razel turned to face her, his face uncertain.

“I only intended to get an opinion from you. We haven’t spoken in decades. Why go any further than offering your thoughts?”

Her hands fell to the desk, replaced by a smile.

“I will help you for one simple reason – you’d do the same for me.”


	4. Que Cera

Panel after panel of expensive wood planking lined the walls of the passage leading to the bazaar. The varying types of board gave it patchwork coloration, yet the uniform sealing meant the wall curved overhead faultlessly to tunnel into the Big Top. An enormous canvas tent was pitched over the entirety of the courtyard, which was itself inherently immense. The thick support pillar rose out of a fountain in the center, while large walkways spread out flanked by booth after booth of all manner of goods and services. Commerce echoed loudly between the abnormally sturdy shantytown built at the edges of the space. Many of those working the carts were clearly vampiric, while some more subtly so. Occasionally a mortal would pass by, but on the whole the refugees tended towards sentient undead.

Ophelia placed a hand across Razel’s shoulders, leading him for a stroll. The entire crowd smiled to their Madam in turn with each thankful in some way for the opportunity she provided to escape a horrible fate. A pair of small children scampered past, one chasing the other delightedly. Razel just stared into the air, not paying any attention. Ophelia continued her explanation from moments ago.

“So as I was saying, your ‘condition’ doesn’t ring any bells with me personally. Also, we should think of something to call it for shorthand reference.”

“Mngh.”

“Too hard to spell. What about…Novus? Since it’s new to us.”

“Mngh.”

Ophelia sighed heavily and came to a stop.

“You have to be more active in this process, Razel. I know you’re apathetic to almost everything, but this is _you_ that’s at stake here. Whatever this is could _kill_ you. Can you really just sit idly by and let that happen?”

After a long moment of staring blankly at her in reply, he spoke up.

“You’re right. I just…I hate knowing. I could run into one of them at any time. Only some of the names had places to go with them.”

“That’s why you have to live.”

“Lies. Even if I manage to get all of the sleepers I know of, there’s more.”

“Yet if you don’t try, you’re only accepting their victory before it happens. Knowledge is a burden, but knowing is a responsibility. If you do nothing when you know something, you are no better than their ally. You may as well work _with_ them at that point. Are you Phyrexian, Razel?”

Fury seized his eyes. Blisteringly fast his arm rose; compulsion drew his hand angrily toward her, stopping it just short of her cheek. The crowd had fallen silent, and several had made a short start towards him at the sight of a raised hand. Ophelia’s unwavering gaze merely maintained her validity. His hand fell to a finger, pointing accusingly up to her chin.

“Look. Don’t mistake my hesitation to go commit several counts of unwarranted murder for some sort of agreement with those machine beasts. I will go with you to wherever you want to find some cure for this…Novus, or whatever you called it…not because I value my own life, but because I know that if I don’t I will bring more woe than if I struggle through it.”

The crowd relaxed slightly at Ophelia’s subtle urging. Her voice was firm, but kind.

“The reasons are yours and yours alone. I will not apologize for what I said. I am right, and you know I'm right. You admitted as much. Why do we need to fight about it?”

Patrons returned to shops, sensing that nothing would come of the confrontation. The rime mage struggled with a retort, and then sighed in resignation.

“We don’t. We’re both working to the same end.”

She stepped back beside him, placing her arm once more around his shoulder.

“Precisely. So if you’ll excuse the pun…you need to cool down.”

He smiled feebly and they resumed their trek. A grand crimson awning had been erected at the entrance to one of the larger establishments, the inside surprisingly clean and well-built considering the roughshod exterior. A pouty blonde woman stepped out of the closest doorway to greet them, nothing but a transparent shift draped over her nakedness.

“Good evening, Madam. Are you here for business, or…?”

The voluptuous associate’s eyes wandered to Razel as she licked her lips.

“Sadly my dear, yes. Razel needs to see Cera.”

“Ooh, and this is sad? What’s wrong with the poor boy?”

“That’s what we’re hoping to find out.”

“A mystery, huh? She likes mysterious things. Cera’s in the Blue Room today.  She had mentioned an appointment. Shall I escort you?”

The woman walked over to the opposite side of the rime mage, taking his arm and squeezing slightly. A hint of flowers wafted over to him. He remained silent as the awkwardness of not knowing how to respond to someone he did not know started to overwhelm him.

“No, just him for now.”

Razel looked over at her in alarm.

“I have other business to attend to at the moment, and I’ve already given her the summary of the symptoms as Razel relayed it to me.”

He spoke up in protest.

“You know I’m right here, right? Why am I going alone?”

She patted him on the head as she turned to walk away.

“What, are you scared of a courtesan? She’s just going to look you over. I’ll be back momentarily.”

With an amused wink and several clicks of heel on stone, Ophelia was gone. The attendant tugged his arm gently, urging him deeper in.  His reluctance began to interfere with his walk, which caused a quick stumble that thoroughly mortified him. A beaded curtain rattled loudly as they pushed through it only to come down a winding hall. She tried to put him at ease after noting how wide his eyes had become while still gazing fiercely at the floor just ahead of him.

“So this is an establishment specifically intended for the sanctuary, and not the general public. That’s why we’re in the bazaar!”

Somehow he maintained the stare.

“That’s interesting...”

She smiled and bobbed her head a bit to their steps, squeezing him tighter to try and calm him. Instead she felt him seize slightly.

“There are also festivals whenever we get new rescues, as well as discounts and promotions,”

Every word was lost on him as he tried to focus on the floor.

“...not to mention the group rate. Oh! Here it is.”

Haze cleared from his eyes to pay more attention. The bouncy clerk at his arm let go, which prompted a prominent bit of relief. She shook her head while motioning to a vividly azure door which had been left slightly ajar.

“Cera’s inside. Go on, she won’t bite…unless you pay the premium. Or it’s a holiday. Or we’re having a special. Y’know what? Stay away from her teeth.”

A reassuring smile failed to serve its purpose. Razel watched the woman strut back to the front area, now alone in the depths of the bordello. After taking a moment to steel himself, he pressed the door open.

The Blue Room was anything but, in a literal sense. The colors were vibrant and regal, yet varied and respectable. Still, of the rainbow of décor, not a single part of it was the least bit blue. Except, of course, for Cera herself. A tightly bound wrap of crushed blue velvet clung to her shoulders as she looked through a pile of books while sitting on the bed with her back to the front door. Her white hair was pulled to a tight ponytail, draping down to the covers.

“Come in, come in. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Razel stepped gingerly across the carpet, taking a padded seat near the foot of the daunting bedframe. Pages rustled from one to the next until the cover was slammed shut in frustration. Cera turned to face him, her fair features emptying his thoughts for a moment.

“You’re Razel. I’m Cera. We knew that though.”

A hop and a bounce off the bed and she landed atop her slippers, sliding her feet into them as she came over to take the seat across from him at the end table. She placed her chin on her fingers as she inspected him, smiling as though she had just been presented with a puzzle most confounding.

“Ophelia has provided a copy of your description of the Symptoms. I have heard of similar things, but none matching you enough to really _be_ it.”

His initiative restored, the setting slipped his mind as he took interest in the conversation.

“Such as?”

She placed a finger to her chin as she went on.

“There was a case of someone who was hemorrhaging Mana, but it didn’t detonate or take him anywhere. Another case had someone who would sneeze and wind up on a different plane…apparently he had associated the two responses. Other than that, my books are much too limited to be of serious help. I know plenty about bodies, though...believe you me.”

He raised his eyebrows and gave her a once-over. Cera clapped her hands and chirped at him.

“Well, let’s see if we can’t discern anything physical as the cause! Get on the bed.”

Ophelia smiled pleasantly at the front attendant as she meandered past, her business managed for the time being. A muffled conversation met her ears as she came closer to the cracked blue door.

“Stop moving so much-“

“Well if you’d make up your mind-“

“Look, this isn’t an exact science, alright? Now get on your knees.”

The Madam flushed as she briskly sped up, clicking into the room to discover the two of them mid-measurement. Cera held a ribbon measure along his outstretched arms, noting the breadth of his span and jotting it down.

“Alright, now sta-Madam! Welcome! Why do you look so…alarmed?”

Razel appeared to be irritated but otherwise uncaring towards the situation. Ophelia exhaled, crossing her arms and relaxing her expression.

“No reason. Have we found anything?”

Cera held up a finger for a second before thinking better of her response and skipping back to her notes.

“Maybe. Let me do some quick equations. Planeswalkers are different from most physiologies, so the measurements might need adjustment…”

Ophelia took the seat Cera had previously used, watching Razel return to his. Her reaction had thankfully gone unnoticed. He inquired as to her previous activities.

“So what manner of business was at hand, if you don’t mind my asking?”

She shrugged.

“Simply a backup plan. Backup plans and fiscal projections.”

“Your secrecies are amazingly boring. This is coming from a tax collector.”

“So the Orzhov don’t do any actual accounting? I fail to believe that.”

“Oh, we do it, except we aren’t boring about it. We don’t balance books; we direct our debt to someone else. There’s no ‘Oh, that’s the last for that payment’. It’s always ‘Hey, let’s zero this account with his SOUL’.”

“Such melodramatic accounting.”

They shared a laugh. Cera viciously shushed them, the noise from their mirth interfering with her concentration. They exchanged looks at her expense while smiling to each other pallidly.

“Got it!”

Cera bounded over to them, slamming a paper covered in unseemly glyphs and notations. Razel and Ophelia leaned over, both cocking their heads.

“So…what does this tell us?”

Cera pointed to a sign that resembled a five-tonged fork.

“He’s leaking Mana, but I don’t know why. Except it’s not _really_ a leak, because it isn’t happening constantly. Something is pooling your mana without your knowledge until it overflows. You’re literally drawing enough power that you don’t even need to focus it.”

Razel squinted with one eye, trying to assimilate the information.

“So you’re telling me it isn’t leaking as much as something is forcing me to pull too much of it.”

“That’s whatever the ‘Novus’ is. The mana flare is just a side effect, a symptom. The condition itself is causing it. Not just that, it seems that each time it will draw exponentially more.”

His eyes widened, looking to Ophelia who shared the expression. They turned to Cera, who continued.

“Razel, if you don’t figure out why this is happening, you’ll eventually pool too much power. It will literally rip you apart, from the soul outward.”

He slunk into his hands, eyes roaming the floor absently. Ophelia reached over to place a caring hand on his shoulder before inquiring further.

“Is there any way to tell how many ‘flares’ he has left before…he…?”

Cera looked to him briefly to make sure he wasn’t looking, and then nodded.

“Not with this information.”

Her lips mouthed a contrary opinion to the Madam.

_Three._


	5. Blood Red Council

Water splashed along the edge of the fountain. A worn stone rim was damp, the moisture seeping into Razel’s robe as he considered what Cera had told him.

_Eventually it will kill me…No way to know when…_

Surprising himself, he felt the impulsive fear of mortality welling up within. Death was no stranger and several times he had nearly faced circumstances that would have prevented his return – yet each time, variables within his control meant that even under overpowering odds, he had hope. Now, death seemed discouragingly inevitable.

_Inevitable…unless I figure it out._

Ophelia strode up to the rime mage, setting herself next to him and handing him a cone of shaved ice. Red syrup seeped into the slush, its flavor probably best left unquestioned.

“Here. Some temporary distraction. How are you handling all of this?”

More shrugging. She sadly patted him on the arm and spoke again.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Razel’s response conveyed his disbelief.

“How? Leave it to me to be patient zero for some weird condition.”

He bit into the treat, enjoying it yet noting a copper twang.

“You remember my backup plan?”

Razel shook his head.

“No. You never told me what it was.”

“I’m telling you now. I don’t just sell companionship, I also deal in secrets.”

He cocked his head.

“I called a conference in my Black Chamber. My intelligencers will find what they can, and we’ll go from there. One step at a time.”

His eyes traced up the shape of her skirt.

“I can’t thank you enough, Ophelia. Honestly.”

“You want to thank me? Don’t die.”

“No promises.”

She stood, prompting him to do the same. Midday crowds kept respectful distance, watching him warily. They wound back to the patchwork tunnel, slipping inside the establishment proper and taking an even more confusing path than before. For what felt like nearly an hour they descended, passing odd signs and plaques whose translations were still unintelligible. Razel addressed Ophelia, unsure of their methodology.

“Why are we walking? Why don’t we just…well, ‘walk?”

Ophelia paused for a moment, processing what he had said.

“Alright, that’s a terrible sentence, first off. Second, you should know more than anyone how easily ‘walking can be tracked by those with the knowledge. What use is a secret room if you can simply follow a path straight to it?”

He found no part of that he could disagree with. This encouraged him to be silent for the time being. Stopping at a door that looked conspicuously like the door to her office, she traced a design engraved on it before stepping through the unopened aperture.  Following a moment of bewilderment, the rime mage blindly walked into the door, finding himself again inside her office – excepting that all of the colors were reversed.

Blue tapestries with white trim adorned the walls garishly. The negative office had a circular table set over the pool in the center of the room, while four stern-faced individuals sat around it, speaking amongst themselves. At the sight of their Madam they let out a simultaneous ‘Welcome’, and then returned to their animated chatter. The new arrivals took their seats at opposite ends of the table, silencing the spies.  Wasting no time, Ophelia began.

“You all know why you’re here, but we’ll cover it again for Razel. You all have the symptoms as described, and by now I’m certain you’ve also seen Cera’s notes.”

They all nodded in turn.

“I asked each of you to bring me your two best possibilities for finding out what this ‘Novus’ thing truly is. Did we compile a list?”

Again with the nodding.

“Alright. State your names so he knows what to call you. Vasic, start us off.”

The spy to Razel’s left stood. His strong features were framed with a deathly pale complexion, while his attire spoke to a history of nobility. Vasic produced a scroll that he raised to his face. Eight clearly separated paragraphs covered their options.

“Having reviewed the provided materials with my fellow intelligencers, as well as reviewing our file on Razel,”

The rime mage cocked an eyebrow, but Vasic remained oblivious and continued.

“…we have decided the following are our best options for finding what we seek. First and certainly foremost, the best possible source for answers is The Academ-”

“No.”

The interjection brought all eyes to the ‘walker, who brushed off the attention and paid no mind.

“No. We’re not going to them. Next option.”

Vasic raised an eyebrow of his own and returned to the briefing.

“So, following them, my other suggestion is to reach out to your Myojin and ask her for answers.”

Razel shook his head and chuckled conspicuously.

“Alright, what the hell. How do you know about my Patron?”

Ophelia motioned for him to relax.

“It’s their job to know, Roz. We should be thankful for it, not worried. Is it not a smart suggestion?”

His eyes narrowed as he upheld his gaze.

“Night may be able to help me. I’ll inquire later. Let’s move on.”

Vasic passed the list to the woman on his left. She stood, clearing her throat. Her outfit was pointedly more reserved than many Razel had been privy to that day.

“I am Feuri. I have found two possible sources of medical knowledge that could help. The Interplanar Memorial Medical Center is a self-proclaimed neutral zone from all conflicts and purports to be the most complete storage of physiological knowledge in the cluster since the collapse of the Maggiore and the loss of their crystalline knowledge matrix.”

Razel looked sincerely impressed.

“If they’re as informed as they sound, we may have hope. What’s the second?”

“We believe we have located the Maggiore Crystalline Knowledge Matrix. An excavation into one of their ruins was enshrined in a museum of sorts as a sort of ‘living history’ display. Our informants have implied that there are chambers beneath the complex that may be either unexplored or unknown.”

“How remarkably convenient. Why have you only now located it if it was lost ages ago?”

Feuri thought about this for a moment, coming to an unassuming conclusion.

“We never had a reason to look.”

“Fair enough.”

She handed the scroll to the man opposite, skipping Ophelia. His pallid complexion betrayed his undeath while his horns betrayed his home. The vampire remained seated, only retracting his fangs to make speaking slightly easier.

“Ma’crún. I have combed over our database of wanted individuals and located some who are being sought for things that imply knowledge of your ‘unique’ physiology. The easiest to reach would be the witch twins, Ren & Ran. They’re inseparable, but known to do things I’d rather not relay in an official report. You should be right at home. They live in some backwoods cabin in relative isolation, which is the biggest reason they’re still at large.”

“I’m assuming they’re ‘walkers then.”

“Obviously. The other individual is a Golem, name of ‘Impulse of Thought’. He’s a sentient Weird, built from two opposing concepts. He carefully planned how he would enact his impulses, and unfortunately, ignited as well. He also performed unnatural experiments, but thankfully he stopped at the science.  The downside is that he’s currently being held in the bottom-most level of the Prison Hulk _Arcona_. It’s maintained by the OEP – Omniversal Enforcement and Protection. Like your Azorius, except not limited to the legality of a single plane.”

“It stands to reason that anyone capable of holding a planeswalker for any extended period of time is going to make breaking in difficult.”

“We’re working on that as we speak. Otherwise, those are my suggestions.”

The vampire tossed the scroll along. A mane of shaggy brown hair hid most of his face as the final spy stood to address them.

“Aslo. I found two sources of data that could potentially hold the information we need. There is a great Library, a plane in and of itself, which holds literally all manner of books, scrolls, images, everything. It’s just finding something that complicates matters. Additionally, there is to be a multi-discipline conference soon in one of the protected demiplanes. If we can locate a suitable expert in Planeswalker anatomy, we can pull him aside, get his opinion, and then leave.”

Ma’crún shook his head.

“There will be agents of the Academy there. It’s inevitable.”

“True, but they won’t risk anything blatant considering the nature of the gathering. We provide them with a disguise, tamp your energies, and we should be alright.”

Aslo sat, the scroll now making its way to Razel. He looked over the writing. All of the suggestions were valid, even if one was dismissed out of hand. Still, the places detailed in this scroll were his best hope for survival. He hurriedly rolled it up and stuffed it into his robe.

“Thank you, all of you. I know you don’t have to do this, but-“

“Actually, we do.”

Focus shifted to Ma’crún, whose face reflected a strained stoicism. Razel leaned back glacially, crossing his arms. Ophelia glared at her subordinate.

“Ma’crún, there’s no need for-“

Razel interrupted.

“Nonsense, Ophelia. Let him speak.”

The Vampire stood, looking to his companions.

“Isn’t this stupid to any of you? I am personally knee-deep in the dead and there are countless other assignments that demand my attention, yet at the drop of a hat I’m expected to help the paranoid fire hazard over here?”

The Madam was clearly livid, but maintained her composure as she replied.

“Yet you still did your job. Why bring this up now?”

“I did my job _because_ it is my job. We are here to help you, madam, and for that alone I looked for the information I did. But him? He doesn’t respect you at all! He nearly hit you in the bazaar! Yet you want to _help_ him?! How will this at all advance the House?”

Ophelia exhaled loudly, resting her palms on the table.

“Ma’crún, you will sit down and maintain respect for my guests while they are here. If you have problems with my orders, take them up with me personally. We will discuss your disruptive impulses later.”

His fangs clicked loudly as they extended, the chair creaking as he dropped back into it. Ophelia softened her gaze and spoke up.

“Thank you for this. I will be in touch with each of you. You are all dismissed.”

The spies rose and left as a group, Ma’crún glaring daggers at Razel as they went. The ‘walkers followed close behind, slowing their pace just enough to fall out of earshot. Once he was sure they were distant enough, Razel questioned his host.

“That needlefang made a good point. This isn’t profitable in any way for you. Why dedicate the resources you have thus far?”

Ophelia smiled, reminiscing.

“It’s like I told you – you would do the same for me. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my aeons of existence, it’s that you have to value companionship above all else. Without it, you lose attachment to the physical realms and start to fracture. You go crazy. Do you remember that time on Barrakar?”

“Rather well. It took me ages to remember how to assemble an eel.”

“Things like that. Memories. Small attachments. You…you’re one of my attachments, Razel. I consider you a friend, even if we don’t talk as much as I’d like. Keeping you alive is just as selfish as your drive not to die.”

“Well, keeping you sane is certainly good for business.”

“Depending on the business, but in this case absolutely. So stop trying to talk me out of this. I’ve considered all the benefits and drawbacks repeatedly, and every time keeping you alive is the best option. Ma’crún doesn’t need to know that. He simply needs to follow orders and show respect.”

“How can I ever repay you?”

She took him by the shoulder, squeezing him encouragingly.

“I already told you. Don’t die.”


	6. Broken Cookies

Razel sat obliviously at a small table, ignoring the hustle and bustle around the dining area. A fist-sized fruit, based on a citrus scaffold and designed to produce blood instead of juice, was sold all across the bazaar. Several vampires walking past were fang deep into one, and the creative solution to the need to feed made him smile offhand.  The reinforced rickety realm Ophelia had built impressed him at every turn. The front’s façade of the flesh certainly brought in the bulk of the income, but all of that was spent to sustain the populace behind it. This was apparently Ophelia’s own perceived _noblesse oblige_. It took him a moment to recognize the person approaching him, causing a brief jump upon the realization that he was being approached at all.

“You startled me, Ma’crún.”

The vampire took a seat across the beaten table.

“That’s nice. I want you to leave.”

Blunt and unexpected, Razel found himself again caught off guard.

“No. I was invited personally by your superior.”

“Who you’re using.”

Razel chewed on his lip in annoyance.

“What do you mean? Are you referring to how I refused to leave a prison cell for over a week and Ophelia demanded I come with her?”

“I don’t know why she entertains a relationship with you. You’re a self-obsessed prick who thinks he knows better than everyone.”

“I don’t think I-”

Ma’crún continued in blatant ignorance of the response.

“You think I haven’t read your file? I know you were in the Academy. I know how you types act.”

The rime mage’s face drained of expression. A furious neutrality radiated outward.

“I’m not sure I get what you’re saying.”

The undead was more than happy to clarify.

“You don’t care about anyone who gets hurt along the way so long as you get what you want. Your ‘education’ just means you think you’re better than the rest of us. You don’t even care for others of your own kind. If you had struck her, you wouldn’t have made it out of the square. Did you consider that? No. You’re impulsive and impatient and insufferable. We don’t need you endangering our establishment with your woe-is-me misfortune. Go die explosively somewhere I don’t have relatives.”

The quiet of his voice masked the feelings beneath. Razel read through to it nonetheless.

“I have no intention of leaving. You can’t make me. Respect your Madam’s wishes before I tear your limbs off.”

Ma’crún stood in exasperation, his bench dragging loudly against the floor. Several folks had stopped to watch from a distance as the altercation grew in volume.

“You can’t even defend yourself! You just tell me to ‘mind my mistress’ and expect I’ll listen to _you_?! You _threaten_ me? Do you think I’m afraid of you?!”

The mage stood coolly. He stepped out from behind his bench and replaced it under the table.

“I am warning you. You _will_ respect me, as your Madam has commanded.”

“You hold no authority over me! I am acting in the best interest of everyone here! You are a danger! Leave before you get us all killed!”

Razel’s voice was terse and venomous.

“Lower your voice. Show me respect. I will not warn you again.”

“MAKE ME!”

Razel extended his arm in a flash. The extended fingers projected Ma’crún back, stopping and suspending him midair as his extremities were drawn from their sockets. His initial gasp cut out as his throat sealed violently. The flesh sunk as the muscles began to rip. The crowd gasped and murmured, turning to screams as his blood wept from the tears at his seams.

“As you wish.”

The screaming intensified as mostly-inert meat piled on the ground. Razel strode over, picking up the head to hold it inches from his own face.

“I know you have a few moments, so remember this when Ophelia raises you. Do not presume to lecture me on my activities. You _will_ respect me.”

The head fell to land with a revolting thud among its own remains. Razel kicked it once for good measure. He turned to face the crowd, provoking them all to recoil from him reflexively. Ophelia came clicking up, her heels chipping small gouges of stone. The crowd parted to give her a respectable berth, Razel turning to face her and instead finding the back of her hand.

“How _dare_ you?”

“Wh...He was telling me to leave, causing a scene-“

“So you _DISMEMBER HIM_?”

“He insulted me! He didn’t follow your orders to show me respect! I warned him, and you can just raise him anyway!”

“ _SO YOU DISMEMBERED HIM!_?”

Razel looked around himself to the crowd. Several small faces disappeared behind their parents. He had been unaware of the presence of children and seeing them brought shame welling up from his spark. He hung his head repentantly.

“I may have been out of line.”

“No may have about it. Move. Go to my office and wait for me to come to you. I need to clean up this mess you’ve made.”

He fidgeted in place uncomfortably.

“I don’t remember the path.”

“Then just ‘walk there. I…I need you to get out of my sight. Now.”

Without hesitation he fell backward, slipping through the fissures in space and landing on the bed lowered over the pool in the center of her office. For hours he laid in the comfort of her silks. Absent minded musings tried in vain to piece together his situation, both the Novus and apparent lack of self-control. The kids didn’t need to see any of that, yet he had now given them images that would probably haunt them through their lives. Novus was affecting him more than he could bring himself to admit. Careful contemplation of her ceiling yielded nothing but empty regret and a blank mind. The door slammed open, slamming shut again as the Madam furiously made her way to her desk. Razel sat up to rest on his elbows as he addressed her.

“So…what’s the news?”

She looked up from her hands cradling her face to glare at him before returning to stare at her desk.

“You’ve really made this difficult.”

“How so?”

She glared again.

“Don’t be dense. You traumatized half of the people there, enraged a couple, and completely alienated the possibility of getting any help with this whole thing.”

“Are you sure? I mean, your intelligencers-”

“Refuse to work with someone who will rip them apart on a whim. I don’t blame them. The fact that they’ve even agreed to provide intel is testament to my negotiations.”

Razel raised an eyebrow as she went on.

“I brought him back, but he’s gone from furious to insane. You drove him mad. I lost one of my best agents to the mental backlash of you being an idiot.”

“Hey, I-”

At the sight of her irritation, he stopped.

“Point is, now it’s just you and I, going around the multiverse trying to find this information.”

“…so you’re still helping me?”

Ophelia sighed weightily.

“Yes. Against all better judgment, I much prefer you alive over dead, and even if my network won’t directly help I still can’t sit idly by and watch you burn yourself up.”

“Thank you, I know yo-”

“Don’t think I’m not angry at you for this.”

He swallowed the rest of his thought.

“I now have to try and get counseling for those children in some way to help them cope with it. I have to calm the angry ones, I have to reassure the rest, and I have to somehow maintain their faith in me while abandoning them to help the guy that did this. Raising him again isn’t the point. Controlling yourself is.”

“Wait, me? What about him controlling himself? He was yelling at me in public!”

“Can you blame him? I saved every single person here from some sort of cataclysm or apocalypse or other disaster. I gave them a chance at survival, and for that they are loyal to me and to our home. They are not, as you put it, ‘under my command’. They serve out of respect and duty. He raised valid points. What if you start to flare while you’re here?”

“I’ll immediately ‘walk to some other plane and explode there, then return to my retre-“

“Leaving a trail from wherever you go directly into my home. Dammit Roz, you’re missing the point. His concerns were all justified. He over-reacted, but you took it to an extreme. You know he couldn’t hurt you. Not seriously. He was in no way a threat to you. Why? Why do it? To prove a point? Because you could?”

She stared hard at him.

“Not good enough. I think we should base this little safari out of your retreat instead of mine.”

Razel furrowed his brow.

“I’m alright with that. If it’s any consolation-”

“It’s not.”

“-you’re right. I’m unstable, and I’m sorry.”

“An apology won’t fix the situation. I appreciate it, I really do…but it’s still not enough. Go. I’ll be there in a short while.”

He slid off the bed and turned to say something, but the sight of her rubbing her aching temples inspired him to think better of it. Instead, he stepped between spaces.

“It’s going to be a long cycle.”

The platform atop the roof of his foyer was circular. The multiple stories flanked it on either side, continuing along toward the back of the manor, a courtyard enclosed between the platform and the back wing. A doorway waited to either side with a short approach sheltered by the extending roof. Razel walked to the edge of the space facing his shrine and sat, legs dangling over the edge.

Suspended flames reflected dully in the void beneath, while the path across the pool they illuminated with a subdued orange glow. The Honden itself sheltered the statue of his patron, reminding him of something he needed to do. With a shove he pushed off of the edge and landed neatly on his feet in front of the main door, purposefully striding across the bridge to face the Myojin.

“O Night, Spirit of Darkness, I beseech you. I have a quandary once more which I request your assistance with.”

The translation to a realm of shadow was slower than the last time. When the black had swallowed him entirely, he heard her voice within himself.

**_Good Evening, Razel._ **

“Is it? No sun and all.”

**_Witty to a fault. What is your issue?_ **

“I have recently been experiencing…interesting symptoms.”

**_Other than having a duplicate?_ **

“Was…was that a joke? I can’t remember the last time you-“

**_Get to the point._ **

“Right. Ahem. I have a condition wherein I unwillingly pool enough mana to detonate. It will apparently kill me. I...I need your help.”

A discrete feeling of an incursion of his privacy drowned him for several minutes. He saw nothing, no eyes, no movement, but he felt his entirety being scrutinized. After the presence stopped, his patron spoke once more.

**_No._ **

Razel blinked for a second.

“I…I’m sorry?”

**_No. I know what is happening. I will not intervene. When it is time, you will see me again. When it is time, I will be there to escort you. Until it is time, I wish you luck where applicable._ **

The shadows withdrew swiftly, despite Razel’s best efforts the hold them in place. No amount of intent or assertion stopped their retreat. As the last of the darkness withdrew into the statue, a crack appeared at the base of the mask, spreading across the porcelain face to cleave it symmetrically in two.


	7. Decisions, Decisions

Stiletto heels stepped determinedly onto the permafrost between the Manor and the shrine. Ophelia maintained her stride as she crossed the thin bridge to pause behind the master of the retreat, kneeling away from her. He turned to face his friend slowly, glimmering trails of frozen tears tracing down his cheeks.

“She won’t answer me.”

The madam knelt down behind the rime mage and took him in her arms.

“Tell me. What happened? Why is the mask cracked?”

Razel had, by that point, run out of resistance. His face contorted as he attempted to explain.

“I honestly don’t know. I asked for her help, she looked me over, and then she just said…‘No’.  She said ‘When it is time, I will escort you’ and ‘I won’t interfere’. Three times she said that. ‘When it is time’.”

The vampire squirmed uncomfortably at the number, still debating if she should share the information regarding his remaining flares. Before she could speak up, he moved on.

“Then the shadows withdrew, and…and…it cracked. She was gone. Completely. Won’t answer. I can’t call her. I don’t feel her. The shadows hold nothing for me anymore. She kept me safe. Offered protection for fealty. Helped me get back on my feet after I fled the Academy.”

Not much of this was news to the mistress of secrecies. Regardless, she allowed him to deluge his thoughts out of respect for his grievance.

“Why would she refuse to help? Am I going to die? Is she going to take me to the other side?”

He snorted at the thought.

“I’ve been to several of the ‘other sides’. Where do dead planeswalkers go?”

Ophelia shushed him gently. Her reassuring hands stroked his hair while she comforted him.

“Silliness. I’m certain that Night simply trusts in you, is all. Obviously she knows something you don’t. She even said you would see her again, just…whenever this ‘time’ is. Who knows what plans ferment in the minds of the divine. Trust her as you have for so long and let’s focus on doing what we can to make sure you get to ‘that time’.”

He complied with her gentle tugging to raise himself up, the pair hobbling across the pit of nothingness and entering the Manor itself. The grinding marble echoed down an open doorway, the hallway beyond impossibly long when considering the exterior façade.  Ophelia led Razel to his hide chair and placed him in it gingerly. She turned to find herself face to face with a fleshless skull, stumbling back in alarm. The purple-clad ribs rose and fell with an ancient bellows, simulating breath it no longer drew. Skeletal yet loyal, the House Guard stood attentively as it awaited acknowledgement.

“DAMMIT WOODHOUSE, ANNOUNCE YOURSELF NEXT TIME.”

Bubbles roiled within the small glass ampule in its bony fingers. Woodhouse extended the amber liquid to his master, who took it and swallowed the contents in a single go. He wiped his lips on his sleeve, tossing the bottle blindly behind him. Ophelia barely saw the house guard appear where the bottle would have landed, catch it, and then reappear without it where he had been moments prior. The raw efficiency impressed her.

A chair materialized with a speed that suggested it had been fetched. Ophelia gladly reclined within it. A sturdy table filled the space between them abruptly, followed by a pile of curios and files deposited by the guard now standing over the table.

_Clatter clack clatter?_

The rime mage couldn’t think of anything.

“This should do for now. Thank you. Also, thank you for not abandoning me.”

Managing to convey deep confusion without the use of eyebrows, Woodhouse didn’t inquire any further, merely dropping his jaw.  Ophelia leaned in to inspect the documents, noting less information than she held, yet some points that were completely foreign to her. As expected, not much of it was useful in this regard. Razel produced the scroll of options from his robe and rolled it onto the table. The first paragraph had been ‘x’ed out, while he ran a finger across the entry titled ‘Night’ and blackened the parchment to indicate failure. Rimy frost dripped onto the paper only to be dismissed with a rubbing of his eyes.  His voice cracked slightly while he regained composure.

“No sense in dwelling. May as well do what I can and hope for the best, since if the worst happens I couldn’t have avoided it anyway.”

He didn’t seem entirely convinced of this himself, yet he swallowed any lingering doubt and moved on.

“So... ignoring the impossible and resolving the abandonment, we’re left with six options.”

Ophelia shook her head slightly.

“We don’t need to take care of this right away. You can take a moment to yourself. I know-“

Snappy and severe, his reply cut her short.

“No, you don’t. I can’t control myself. I’m making every situation I end up involved in worse. I’ve killed several people close to me out of necessity, and now the closest thing I’ve had to a maternal figure in literal aeons just decided to leave for some nebulous amount of time. I can’t afford to ‘take a moment’ and deal with it. Every moment makes it worse. So, as I was saying…”

Monotone droning of details they had both already covered kept him occupied. The madam said nothing, recognizing the attempt to remain distracted and choosing to let it run its course.

“...which, if the report _here_ is to be believed, is associated with the OEP…”

Razel knew his words were meaningless. While his face remained stalwart in adversity, within he was wailing against his mental walls.

“…whereas if we split up, we can search these two simultaneously…”

Woodhouse saw the turmoil within his master. Undead share special bonds with their creators and animate skeletons are no different. He counted his lucky phalanges that he lacked a more expressive face.

“…so we should start with these two. The conference isn’t for another week or so anyway, and it lasts for a week after that.”

The table shared a glance between them. With nobody wanting to admit that they had not paid full attention, Razel least of all, responses consisted merely of sage nods. The madam glossed over it demurely, reaching for the scroll and looking over his hastily scrawled notes.

“So we should start with the Maggiore and the Library, then?”

“Absolutely. They’re both establishments of public service. The Museum shouldn’t be too hard to break into, although we should probably try to avoid making it known. We may have to take the knowledge Matrix with us. The Library will mostly be time-consuming, since locating anything within a plane-wide library will be monumentally difficult.”

_Clack Clack Clack._

“We can only hope. If not, we might need to do some rushed reconditioning.”

Papers shuffled themselves into neat piles as Razel motioned over the loose documents.  They vanished in a wisp of dust along with Woodhouse who was now on the opposite side of the table, sans papers. The two Planeswalkers came to their feet and the table itself joined the intel in hiding, followed by the chairs they had been reclining in. The guard stood expectantly in the open doorway. Ophelia strode across to the bookshelves and began inspecting the varying titles.

“We might need some assistance with this ‘quest’. Surely I’m not the only one who’d be willing to hel- actually, don’t answer that.”

He paid the comment exactly the attention it deserved by ignoring it.

“I’m sure Woodhouse wouldn’t mind the chance to get out of the Manor.”

As a sign of excitation, the House Guard appeared in front of his master. Were he capable his eyes would widen- Instead, they were eternally as wide as possible as he lacked a face.

_CLATTER CLATTER CLACK._

“Absolutely. Only if you remember your choreography, though.”

Clattering echoed through the manor as the skeleton vanished again, zipping from room to room as he gathered various things. Stiff breezes tore past the two walkers as he crossed the foyer repeatedly. Ophelia seized the opportunity to return to Razel’s side, placing her arm across his shoulder out of habit.

“You know I’m here for you, right? Over-reactions, denials, stubborn refusal to feel…I’m still here.”

“Couldn’t comprehend why.”

She looked to her feet as she tried to assemble her words.

“Roz…I…I-”

Bones erupted from the space in front of them, startling her out of her sentence.

“-I AM GOING TO KILL YOU THE NEXT TIME YOU DO THAT.”

Razel chuckled, his brief moment of happiness dissolving much of her irritation. Woodhouse stood at attention, a tiered pouch hung from his left hip. The cloak flung over his shoulder would hide his skeletal structure, while the hood promised to keep his skull concealed. His bony hand held out a filigree sphere holding a blazing blue ball of plasma, the smoky wisps of mana contained within the small steel cage. The rime mage took it and placed it at the small of his back, anchoring the artifact to the space behind him. Curiosity laced Ophelia’s inquiry.

“What would that be?”

“It’s a Witchbane orb. Found it not long after you and I had our last ‘excursion’. Makes it so I can’t be hit by anything I don’t control. Only downside is the relative ease of destroying the orb itself, so I have to watch where I take it since it might be a waste of time in some places.”

“So an explosion will take it out, but not you?”

“No, they can’t aim at me…it’s a little complicated. You cannot consciously direct something at me while the orb is around, as it maneuvers them to miss me.”

She cocked an eyebrow.

“Do you have a spare?”

“Sadly not. I had to reconstitute this one after Rokh crushed it. Since when do you stoop to using artifacts?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been busy since we last spoke.”

“Apparently.”

Razel began adjusting his robe, verifying that he had the items he could foresee requiring. Ophelia dusted off Woodhouse’s cloak, draping it naturally over his desiccated frame before flipping up his hood. The trio checked each other for readiness, and then moved in unison for the door.  The frosted ground outside the manor left no footprints. They took an immediate right out of the door, the Mansion’s Master taking them to the long rectangular plot beside the house and the shrine. A partial transparency offered hints of a literal labyrinth beneath, with walls tracing maddening patterns out of the pathways. An engraved circle sat beside the western wall, the symbol within of a pair of arms raised to project a helix which encircled and tied the cartouche together. The three of them took points at the majority of the cardinal edges, a missing fourth member leaving the last part of the circle incomplete. Another member was unnecessary as the rime mage closed his eyes and raised his arms.

“Are we ready? Where to first?”

Unnaturally fast, Woodhouse produced and flipped a coin. Enclosed fingers caged the result as Ophelia spoke up.

“Dateside we take the Matrix, Pictside we go to the Library.”

Creaking fingers opened to reveal a series of digits indicating when the coin had been minted.

“Museum it is.”


	8. Consumed by Fire

Brocade glinted in the sunlight while a crowd of tourists mobbed the main thoroughfare under which the ruins lay buried, filling the promenade before the Museum.

Three travelers walked up the steps in a tight group. The center one, covered in a cloak, carried himself as a man of clerical origin. A woman to his left was chattering with the man to his right as though the ‘monk’ were not even there.

“It’s not really that bad to get out and about! I mean, I know circumstances are remarkably shi-”

The other man, his sandy blonde hair tossed back carelessly, cut her off with his objection.

“I’m not saying we can’t enjoy ourselves, I’m just saying that you shouldn’t expect me to be completely over everything. I’m going to set it aside for now, try not to let it get to me, but don’t complain if I crack a little.”

His throat choked up marginally at the choice of words. The Monk nudged him gently.

_Clack clatter clatter?_

“Exactly. And don’t forget; if I start to burn, I’m fleeing on the spot. I’ll head back to the Retreat after I stabilize.”

Standing tall, the man put on a convincing smile and beamed at the door attendant. The woman smiled as well, while beneath the hood there were certainly teeth. The concierge nodded at them, offering a quick greeting as they went inside.

“Welcome to the Museum of the Magmatic! Facilities to the left, displays straight ahead!”

Three thanks slunk over to her, one less syllables and more effects. The interior lobby contained the chatter of countless guests, an insulating noise allowing one to speak in confidence while not making out the words spoken behind them. An unintended effect, but a useful one. Tall carvings caked in sulfurous dust had been mounted in the corners. Their figures were carved to bear the weight of some great structure, now repurposed as educational décor.  A large arch was emblazoned with the name of the exhibit – ‘Consumed by Fire – The Mysterious Maggiore’.

Varying images were hung on the walls depicting the many stages of their excavation. A large shot of the entire team started the gallery, while the progression clearly told the tale of discovery and research. Halls branched out at regular intervals to end in large galleries and exhibits. Several contained a selection of daily items recovered from the ash, many displaying sophisticated skill in artifice which managed to confound the explorers.  Razel snickered to himself while passing one of the halls.

“What’s so funny?” Ophelia inquired.

“I shouldn’t laugh at ignorance of a dead language, but…well, those plates over there? With the script they’re trying to decipher?”

“I can’t read it, but I see it.”

“They’ve got it on display as some sort of legal framework or public announcement.”

“So what is it really?”

“According to the graffiti, a good time.”

More chuckles escaped the trio. Variety among the Patrons made them blend in while sticking out. Nobody paid them any mind as they continued plodding down the halls, descending a staircase lit with blazing censers to reach the gem of the display. A great wide room was fashioned with a clear wall opposite, overlooking a castle-sized cavern that had been dug out of the pyroclastic stone. At the borders of the space, buildings seamlessly erupted from the rock, long since swallowed by the magmatic flow which had hidden them away. Many workers tirelessly brushed away the residue, gently revealing structures they had known previously only in legends. A large doorway held the majority of the western wall. Its frame was an ornate vignette of biology, with an embryonic glyph at the bottom of the left riding the edge and growing to the dying old man at the base of the right. Ophelia smiled to herself.

“That would be it. Their medicinal complex. The excavation hit right in front of it. Now we just need to get in.”

Several tables were set up for the convenience of the guests, and service staff made certain the drinks never emptied once filled. Razel approached one of them casually.

“Hey there, buddy! I, uh, I got a problem. See, The lady has this condition where I need to give her her medicine, but she’s really shy about it.”

A confused eyebrow was the summation of his response.

“See, she has to treat a nasty wound, but it’s kind of smelly, and we were wondering if you had a disposal room, or something, I don’t know, somewhere we could take care of it without offending your other guests…”

After a quick glare, Ophelia grimaced sweetly, looking at the waiter and feigning a pain in her side. Not really wanting to deal with his manager, the attendant quietly expressed disgust and pointed them towards a door at the far end of the glass room.

“Pop in there, second right.”

Mumbling as he turned, the server walked away. Razel returned to his companions with a victorious smile.

“Down that hall. Shall we?”

Creaking open, the door led them into a hall that immediately turned to double back on itself. Another door at the peak of the turn was seemingly locked with a large bar mounted in front of it. Woodhouse reached out from the cloak, his bony fingers grasping the bar firmly. With a resonant _thud_ , he manually unlocked the door, leaving five small dents in the steel. They collectively stepped into the cavern, while Razel lingered a moment to re-lock the door after them.

The complete covering of the settlement by the volcanic byproduct lent a remarkable state of preservation to the affair. While dusty, most of the colors remained as vivid as the day they had been hidden away.  Frescoes and sculptures dotted the streets that wound around the nonfunctional public fountain. The glass wall to their immediate left was positioned so that their egress was hidden by a small shack. Razel addressed his companions, taking in the scene as he did so.

“Alright. We need to get across to that door and inside somehow without being seen. Woodhouse, can you scout the roo-”

A puff of dust and a cloud around his now billowing cloak told that the task was already done.

_Clack clackety clatter clack._

Razel nodded.

“Excellent. We’ll take the back route. Are you sure you can uncover the path without damaging the buildings?”

Woodhouse flicked out a hand, twiddling his fingers as a wicked cleaver materialized between them, spinning it idly. He seized the handle and buried it in a nearby wall, carving the pumice as one might slice a block of cheese. Skeletal speed sectioned the cake of ash, which he casually shoved aside to pile dust at his feet. With a gesture of display, he noted the newly revealed wall, free of scratches or wear.

“With a knife, no less. I knew there were reasons I keep you around.”

A quick bow was all the reply needed. Ophelia took the lead, directed by Woodhouse’s pointing fingers.  With no small amount of stealth the trio managed to hop from building to building. A small pocket of Archaeologists were sitting on an uncovered bench, enjoying their lunch break.

“I don’t know what it was, Dar. Maybe someone forgot to close the door again. You know how gusty it can get.”

“Yeah, that’s likely it. Wish someone could have left the cabinet open. Look at this – Seafood again. She knows I hate it…”

Razel glanced to Woodhouse before spotting the side access he had mentioned. Hushed motions made their goal clear. After checking for witnesses they zipped across the street to duck into a fully uncovered doorway. A rough layer of ash acted as a wall at the far side of the room. Tools had been placed on a stool by the wall, picks and brushes uncovering a mural of awkward fertility.  Woodhouse remained single minded in his objective, carving the remaining earth from the room. A sound much like an excited dog burying a new prize quietly filled their ears while he worked. As he pressed on, another hallway emerged from the earth, leading deeper in. Blades slowed as Woodhouse pulled back the last of the clods to uncover a sealed door. It was entirely intact and appeared to still have a functional seal.

Ophelia placed a hand gently on the intricately engraved metal.

“They closed the archive before the event. We might not even have to dig after we open this.”

Woodhouse’s shoulders slunk in disappointment. The gesture went unnoticed as Razel replied.

“Easy enough. Where’s the lock?”

Six eyes poured over the designs. No hinge, no keyhole, no lock, no text – only the stylized image of a man aflame. Woodhouse and the Madam looked to Razel, hoping his translation would yield something. The rime mage’s head drew closer to the engraving while he stroked his chin idly.

“Hm. Either doesn’t have one or uses something we’re not familiar with. Still, it isn’t adamant, so…Woodhouse? An opening, please.”

The edge of the cleaver shimmered with a soft blue glow. As soon as the tip made contact with the door, a charge launched Woodhouse into the wall with force enough to leave an imprint of his structure.

“Alright. Don’t force the door. Got it.”

His house guard shook its head, tossing the cleaver and watching it once again be deflected, this time burying itself up to the hilt in the wall beside his skull. Bony fingers wrenched the blade from the mortar as the skeleton came back to its feet. With a flourish, he spun the cleaver before burying it into the wall right next to the frame supporting the door. Ophelia snarked at Razel while Woodhouse dug around the obstacle.

“Remind me never to make doors stronger than the walls around them.”

As the House Guard disappeared into the room beyond, they heard an abrupt end to the digging followed by some fumbling of material and a loud ‘click’. The door silently slid into the floor, exposing a very dirty Skeleton and an abandoned staging area. The medical nature of the facility was apparent as several devices and displays served a clearly organic purpose. Soft emergency lights lit the halls, provided by a luminescent fungus which had managed to survive the isolation. Strips of orange glow ran down the ceiling of all the rooms and halls. A musty scent, much like an old fireplace, surrounded them. There was no immediate indication of where they were.

Razel strode over to a desk, rummaging through the limited materials left and watching as several disintegrated at his touch. What few remained seemed to be nothing but case histories, with a single exception. Ophelia called to him as she examined a couple of signs.

“Anything useful?”

He lifted one of the documents to his face. With a thought, he summoned his guard, a chunk of the glowing material in hand. Diagrams of a proposed adjunct to their Matrix Access terminals awaited a signature which would never come. Notes scribbled at the bottom indicated the access to be on a sublevel beneath them, which if not specific was certainly a step in the right direction.

“It’s beneath us. We have to descend into their labs and find the terminal, and then backtrack the access from there.”

_Clatter clack clatter?_

Razel nodded, taking up a pen and signing the approval bemusedly.


	9. Jargon

Amber lights ominously lit the trio proceeding through the musty halls. Subtle humming ran through the walls, complemented by distant devices ringing varying alarms. Myriad open doors told them the summation of the functions of each area. A stairwell as wide as the hall ducked down a floor, doubling back on itself and descending again to a hall which must have been twice the size of the one above, yet directly beneath. Beds lined its walls behind opaque plastic sheets. Several bodies lay dormant in their beds, their curtains cast aside. Razel narrowed his eyes and motioned for his Guard to check ahead. A gale resulting from Woodhouse's departure drew several curtains with it. Some, jostling loudly but otherwise intact, draped haphazardly from their rungs. Their casual pace provoked Ophelia to speak.

"I may have to rest for a few minutes soon. There are matters at the House that require my approval to proceed and I am to share a dream with one of my secretaries."

"Even when you're literally making archaeological history which will be whispered about and covered up by the local governments you have to conduct your business."

"That was a statement."

"It was. I know the importance of maintaining your endeavors. I don't fault you for that. We'll probably have a few while I look into this Crystalline Matrix...thing."

He was momentarily taken by confusion.

"Come to think of it, did your kin happen to describe the Matrix at any point?"

Her smile faded to a flat irritation.

"No. We don't know much past the name, which may be mistranslated, and the knowledge it is meant to contain."

They neared the end of the room, noting another descent mirroring the one they had just taken. After another few steps and another double back, they spied a cloaked skeleton, his back to the others. In front of him was a rather unusual chair. Woodhouse turned to face his companions, re-appearing in front of Razel.

_Clack clatter clackety clack._

"So why didn't _you_ try sitting in it?"

_CLACK CLACK. Clatter Clackety._

"Why didn't you tell me that to begin with?"

Razel frowned in irritation and led them to the chair. He flopped into it and tapped the only button available. A board of keys and a display panel dropped from the ceiling, holding just above him and right within arm's level. Power coursed through the display as it blinked to life. A series of lines in some forgotten script lit their collected faces, two of them now facing the third for clarification.

"...it needs a password."

His eye twitched reflexively as he scoured the keyboard. Fanning his frustration, Ophelia tried to help.

"What about the keys?"

His eyes paused as he dryly explained.

"They're symbols. Not commands. It's a combination of them. I can read them, but...I still don't know the language. That one makes an 'Mm' sound. I think."

Woodhouse attempted to roll his eyes, failing on account of not having them. Ophelia stroked her chin idly.

Razel exploded.

"FORGET THIS. The knowledge is clearly transferred through a sort of energy, which means in principle I should be able to magically interface with it on some level."

Pistons whined as he tossed aside the apparatus and stormed towards another stairwell.

"I mean, if it's stored in energy, it has to be encoded somehow, and encoding is a form of language, so if I can directly access the crystalline aspect of the matrix I may be able to trick myself into reading the data."

Madam and House Guard both shared a look of worry before dashing after him, unsure of the aptitude of his suggestion.

 _Clackety…clack clatter_!

"He's right! Did you consider that?!"

Razel irritably waved at them.

"Obviously I considered the possible downsides. Best case scenario, I find a coherent data structure and locate what I need with relative ease. Worst case scenario, I wipe the matrix clean."

"...excuse me?"

"Of dust! Clean of dust... and data."

A brazenly marked access hatch to the main resource tunnel sat conspicuously open. Preemptively Woodhouse shot down it, re-appearing within the ladder well just as the others approached.

_Clack clackety._

The rime mage smiled as he followed the skeleton down the shaft, darkness swallowing them with only occasional streaks of stolen orange gloom through grates or cracked hatches. The bottom of the well led to a short tunnel which itself ended in a thick, barred door. Prompted by his master, Woodhouse strode up to the door cautiously. A light toss of his knife found no resistant magic, clanging loudly in the cramped tunnel. With a turn and a bony shrug, he stepped up to the bar and forced it open with a deep _gong_. This door swung freely inward, the blue light blinding them until they made their way inside.

The meter-thick sphere floated majestically between the spires reaching out to it from both the ceiling and the floor. Cables were held taut as their interfacing ends scoured the surface of the sphere while it spun, arcs of electricity conveying signals between sources.  Several of the conduits lay dormant, connected to terminals which now found no use. The cabling was bound to the wall and layered in such a way that the room felt as if it were made from large steel snakes.

Ophelia shoved past Woodhouse and grabbed her companion’s shoulder, turning the rime mage to face her.

“Are you _sure_ you can do this?”

His look was less than reassuring. Razel smiled weakly.

“Maybe?”

With a stabilizing breath, he turned to finish his approach. Woodhouse strode up and took his place beside the Madam.

_Clack clackety clatter clack._

“Make it double that and you’re on.”

They shook on their bet with amused vigor. Resigned to spectate, Ophelia shouted over to Razel while the wandered over to an empty spot and sat.

“I’m going to take care of my business now. Woodhouse will keep watch.”

He mindlessly waved her response away in favor of inspecting the business end of the cables. She reclined on her knees, placing her hands on her thighs and closing her eyes in meditation. The house guard simply stood, watching the both of them work. His master tentatively reached out a hand, jumping slightly as power arced to his fingertips. Raw power would have seared any mortal attempting the same, but a creature of energy itself instead found it an interesting new sensation. Confidence increased as he reached out a second hand, taking up empty spaces among the cable array and joining them in accessing the matrix within.

Blinding white obscured the room as overwhelming information filled his mind. An impression of appearing beneath an avalanche that had already run fueled the oppressive weight of the data. A concentrated force of will solidified an avatar of himself within the matrix, forcing his visual system to accommodate the new interface.  Clusters of data fed into each other in a comprehensible volume, enclosed within the protective skin of security. There was no approach, but rather he merely found himself at the wall. A lack of physical sensation forced him to think a hole in the security, utilizing the interface to abuse rules the system hadn’t been built to enforce.

The clusters of data coiled amongst themselves like vines of grapes laid in grids, the file tree organized only loosely in a coherent way. Closest to his avatar hung a document which, upon further inspection, covered a case history of a Maggiore who birthed a child with three feet. The heading seemed to specify ‘Oddities’, which gave him hope for being in the correct section. A sub heading listed the species, while a link within the file seemed to draw him towards a different piece towards the ‘top’ of the volume. On focusing his will towards the link, he abruptly found the full explanation of the species in question, peppered with further links and explanations. Razel’s mind raced as he realized the ease with which his lack of a plan had worked.  Following a link to what seemed to be a master list of their recognized taxonomy, he began to read.

Woodhouse alternated his gaze between the two ‘walkers, noting with impatience how boring psionics are from outside the heads involved.  A supremely feeble whispering met his awareness. The others had yet to hear it, and the decision was his to investigate. Walls and ladders shot past him as he sped back towards the doorway he had exhumed. Words became clearer as his recognition bloomed. With a slight thud, he brought himself to a stop behind a corner pylon just past their point of entry.

Two Archaeologists crept in cautiously behind an outstretched lantern.

“It’s still got functional power…”

“Is this a desk?”

“Check out the papers…”

“Can you read any of it?”

“There’s a signature here…Key…auh?”

Possibilities clouded his thoughts as Woodhouse watched them cross the hall. Not wanting to draw their attention, he tiptoed out of earshot before zipping back to the others. The rattling of the curtains on the levels below drew the archaeologists’ attention, who spotted the dusty prints descending into the complex and decided to follow.

Skeletal frustration seethed at his seams when he returned to the scene precisely as it had been left. Both ‘walkers remained preoccupied with their respective mental adventures, and unfortunately, both would have to stop. His bony finger jabbed roughly into Ophelia’s shoulder, jostling her out of her trance. She shook her head confusedly and cocked her head at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

_Clatter Clatter Clatter._

A distant crashing of some instrument highlighted his concern.

“Well we’d better snap him out of it and take it with us.”

Ophelia vaulted to her feet and raced over to the rime mage, still oblivious to the world around him.

“Razel. We need to go. Get out here.”

No sign expressed any comprehension of her words.

“ROZ. FOLKS ARE COMING. WE NEED TO GO.”

Still no response.

“Damn it all…Woodhouse, hit him please.”

_Clakety clakety clatter?!_

“Because I said so. Besides, he’ll be less mad at you.”

After a failed attempt at rolling his missing eyes, he roughly pushed her out of the way. A steady bellows filled his cloak. A ginger reach and tap yielded still no response. Tap turned to pat turned to nudge turned to shove, still with no reply.

“JUST…Oh, for the love of…”

Ophelia stepped up and slammed the back of her hand into his head. Jerkily, he stumbled forward, whereas a pulse of energy shot out of him at the impact and into the matrix. His face took on a look of horror as the world reverted to normal, his vision now focused on the sparking and stalling matrix. Its spin seized erratically, stopping with a strained whine and losing its luminance. A moment of tense silence held them as they grasped what just happened. Razel reached out to touch the sphere, unwittingly nudging it loose from the no longer containing field and watching it fall to the ground, shattering on impact. Shards of former knowledge skittered along the floor as Razel whimpered softly to himself.

“So close…Planeswalker physiology…link to complications…link to symptomolo-”

“It came from down there!”

The voice echoing down the access ladder told all of them it was time to go. Rime mage and madam took either side of the house guard, pausing to quip.

“That wasn’t my fault and I told you so.”

“No, Woodhouse told you so. You agreed with him.”

_Clatter Clackety clack clatter!_

“It doesn’t matter if it matters or not! We have other places to go.”

Feet echoed on rungs, excitedly dashing down the hall at the bottom and into the room itself. The Archaeologists laughed to themselves, giddy as schoolchildren. The empty chamber of cables sparked intermittently.

“DO YOU SEE IT?”

“This must be the matrix! The WHOLE ROOM!”

“What’s this dust?”

“How old is this place? Of course there’s dust. Go get the foreman! We have history books to write.”


	10. Self Checkout

Benches sat along the circle of the welcoming area. The trio’s appearance was unmarked by the oblong monitors whizzing past, disappearing expeditiously into the labyrinth of shelves. Ophelia was struck with a sense of eerie predestination.

“How did we wind up directly in a reception area?”

Razel scrutinized their surroundings with concern.

“We were shunted here somehow, as though the administrators of this place are used to dealing with interdimensional travelers. How very conspicuous.”

The skeleton pointed at a sign above the platform.

“Sector 24 Subsector 12-A. I’m to assume this is how we’re supposed to find our way?”

Ophelia shook her head.

“I’m not so sure. We don’t know how they’re laid out yet, so they won’t serve us. It might also designate the platform.”

“Hm.”

Woodhouse hastily sped off, leaving the two of them to inspect the markings on the edges of the shelves. Leaning in closer, the madam asked him to translate.

“So…what’s this shelf covering?”

Squinting helped a little, but not as much as he would like.

“It’s all listed by an index I’m not familiar with. We may need to find some sort of-”

An indigo streak cut him off, Woodhouse once more clearly directing them toward something.

_Clakety Clatter Click Click._

“-sort of directory, yes.  Lead the way.”

Another monitor buzzed by, again oblivious to the guests. Crossing the terrace and passing between the shelves on the other side, they came up to a large clearing dominated by a spherical projection of the Library, represented as concentric shells which looped into themselves endlessly. The first level contained the second which contained the third which contained the first and so on.  Razel counted at least 48 separate spheres within the closed loop. Four pylons held the projected spheres aloft, the closet two scanning the newcomers and beeping in response. The blossoming voice was distinctly feminine, caressing each syllable as it denied its artificial heritage.

_Welcome to our Library. Please state the nature of your visit._

The cascading spheres stopped, focusing on a lit point on the current realm and indicating it as their current position. Ophelia motioned the rime mage to speak.

“Uh…Physiology.”

The sphere lit a considerable sector of the realm they were in, located relatively close by.

_Please specify, or say ‘This will do’._

“um…Species…Planeswalker.”

The area shrank noticeably, now a miniscule fragment of its former size. It rested roughly a quarter of the sphere away on the far side of the selection.

_Please specify, or say ‘This will do’._

Another monitor whizzed by. Razel looked to Ophelia for suggestions, finding only a shrug in reply. Exasperatedly, he faced the sphere and spoke again.

“This will do.”

_Thank you for coming to our Library. The selection you have indicated can be found by following the green path along the floor. For expedited travel, you may also utilize alternative means of transportation provided they do not impact the materials._

Neon green lights lit a winding course into the maze of shelves. The selection on the sphere blinked encouragingly. Shrugging his shoulders in acceptance, Razel motioned towards the path.

“Shall we?”

Flanked by shelves stacked taller than they could see and holding an endless variety of storage, they made their way. The shelves were organized by ease of access and/or usage, with varying media formats contained to their individual racks. Musty books, dust caked scrolls, scratched disks, fracturing pyramids-all options were accounted for. Whizzing past, another monitor hung a sharp left at the next shelf break. Ophelia mused on the subject.

“Those pill-looking constructs seem efficient. This whole establishment, really.”

Razel shrugged.

“You’d have to be to support a venture of this scale. Automation is one of the few ways to guarantee your results. Even then it has holes, inevitably.”

_Clackety clatter clack clatter?_

His master looked at the titles as they passed, translating what he saw.

“Well, let’s see…’Of the Curious Natured Appearance of Mister…’ No. I think this is still fiction.”

“I’d be inclined to agree.”

A gaping chasm cleaved the realm in two, crossed on occasion by narrow bridges. The bottom was nonexistent, and possibly spit you onto another sphere. Signs floated helpfully between the bridges, indicating the divide between Fiction and Non-Fiction. While small, the bridge was remarkably sturdy, not bowing in the slightest under the combined weight of the trio. A monitor shot up from the crack beside the bridge, shooting off along the split before rushing into the non-fiction.

Their path still held a verdant pulse, urging them forward. Shelf after shelf, monitors flying about, they trekked through the jungle of ideas. Another locational kiosk flared to life as they came close, highlighting the section they sought and reassuring them that they were on the right path. Ophelia furrowed her brow while they wandered through the following shelves, finding herself reading the titles as she went.

“Roz…why can I read these as well?”

A passing monitor overheard the inquiry, zipping down to their eye level and chirping the answer helpfully.

_To better allow access to our vast stores of knowledge, all materials are omniversally translated before being inducted into our Non-Fiction Archive. This is a courtesy to you._

Abruptly as it had arrived, the oblate spheroid careened away from them. Three sets of footsteps resumed. Branching from their current shelves, the path reached out to embrace a line of shelves at least sixty long, with unknown depth for each shelf. The plaques on the ends of the shelves were marked with a sigil of a stylized hand, while labeled beneath as ‘Planeswalkers’.

Razel smiled, dashing into the books and peering into them. Woodhouse sped to the far shelf, while Ophelia simply meandered along with Razel, reviewing the documents opposite.

“So Roz…another question for you.”

He briskly closed a tome, replacing it and withdrawing another.

“Shoot.”

“Once we figure out what the Novus is, what are you going to do with the knowledge?”

Thumbs stopped rifling as he paused to consider her question.

“Honestly, I don’t know. It depends on the nature of the Novus, I suppose. Ideally I will reverse whatever it is and be free of it.”

Vampiric eyes glanced to the floor.

“What if it’s incurable? Fatal?”

Blasé as ever, his thumbs resumed.

“That might be for the best. We already know if I don’t cure it then it will kill me. Maybe I’m too much and the Multiverse itself is rejecting me.”

“That’s not it, I’m sure. Roz…”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as he put the book down and turned to face her.

“Yes…?”

“Well…Cera’s equation, it-“

Woodhouse was there, still as stone and directing them towards his findings.

“-WILL END IN YOUR PROPER DEATH IF YOU DON’T STOP THAT.”

Unapologetically, Woodhouse motioned again. Ophelia let out an exasperated breath and began to follow him, the rime mage not far behind with a smile on his face. Twenty-some aisles from the end of the selection, they ducked into a row like all the others. Three quarters of the run to the next break, the House Guard stopped, indicating a tome which was the last in a line of recently-moved books.

“What’s this…’Maladies of the Soul’?”

Walking up and taking it for himself, Razel cracked the book and looked it over. Woodhouse craned over his shoulder, shuffling pages and pointing to the title of the section he found.

“Symptom Appendix? Clever.”

The bony finger jabbed impatiently at a subheading.

“…’Pooling of Mana’?”

As his eyes lit up, he tore through the tome, shuffling to the indicated section and devouring the words. He flipped from section to appendix, section to appendix, systematically hunting for answers.  Ophelia leaned back to watch, while Woodhouse kept jabbing at parts of the book. A flustered waving of his hands dismissed the House Guard, sending him to sulk next to the Madam while his master read. With one hand Razel closed the book, looking over the cover.

“Let’s head to the platform we arrived at. I want to look into this without standing around.”

He wrapped his arm around the book, leading the group back through the shelves.

“So did you find anything so far?”

He shook his head, but maintained resolve.

“Not quite, but it looks like there is a section dedicated to that symptom specifically. It seems to reference other books as well, so I want to actually sit and review it before we look for anything it might be referencing.”

“Sound reasoning. Why the platform?”

“It’s the only set of benches I’ve seen.”

“There’s a perfectly good floor, everywhere.”

They drew near the divide, Ophelia and Woodhouse stepping across first.

“It’s not like there’s anything _against_ it-”

A sudden field stopped him from leaving the sector, accompanied by a loud horn that shrieked precisely once. Several monitors erupted from the woodwork, surrounding the offender. Their demands came in unison, sixteen artificial voices enforcing the rules.

_Please replace the Materials. This is your first warning._

“But…Alright, what about if I just borrow it for a minute?”

_Negative. An attempt to steal materials precludes permissions to access the materials in question. Please replace them. This is your second warning._

Ophelia spoke up.

“You’d better listen, Razel. I wouldn’t test them.”

His eyes narrowed as the Rime Mage turned the way he came, leading the party by way of his levitating entourage of shame. Upon relocating the empty spot, he slid the cover between the others as it had been before. Most of the monitors whooshed off, while several remained to speak again.

_Thank you for your compliance. Please remove yourself from the Non-Fiction section of this Sphere immediately. This is your first warning._

Outrage consumed him as he yelled back at them.

“What?! Now I can’t even look through _other_ books!?”

_Offenses against the Library preclude access to the source of the offense. Please remove yourself from the Non-Fiction section of this Sphere immediately. This is your second warning._

“That’s ludicrous! This information could save my life! Don’t you make any exception for a first-time offense? How was I supposed to know there were rules about that?”

_Your inquiry regarding the location of the materials could have included an inquiry regarding Library regulations. Your failure to inquire implies familiarity with the system which affords you full responsibility for your actions. Please remove yourself from the Non-Fiction section of this Sphere immediately. I have been authorized to administer class VI force. This is your final warning._

Ophelia buried her face in her hand.

“Razel, don’t do this…”

Her words fell on deaf ears as he screamed at the machines.

“Make me!”

A bolt of plasma seared the filigree of his orb into an unrecognizable mess. A second followed, bringing him to spasms, falling jerkily onto the floor. Ophelia shrieked in surprise. Razel grabbed the shelf to pull himself up, lurching into it and laying his face against the spine of the book.

“Ow.”

_I have been authorized to use class V force. Please remove yourself from the Non-Fiction section of this Sphere immediately._

Spying the title, a flicker of an idea caught within his mind, igniting a plan.

“No.”

Shoving back from the shelf with one hand, he grabbed the book with the other and took off running. The monitors managed to keep a distant pace as they shrieked tinny demands at him.

_Please replace the Materials. This is your first warning._

“YOU HAVE AWFUL MEMORY SPANS!”

Another bolt shot out towards him, piercing the floor where his foot had been.

_I have been authorized to use class IV force._

“Alright, maybe not. How do you pronounce the numerals?!”

Woodhouse held the Madam in his arms, matching the monitor’s speed precisely while staying several meters behind them. A wall loomed at the end of the row, approaching quickly. With a running leap, Razel disappeared right at the boundary of the wall and the hall, Ophelia following him through his scar and bringing Woodhouse along. The monitors careened explosively into the stone.

The trio smiled to themselves, the expression leaving as they saw the labyrinth of shelves surrounding the dais. The whizz of countless monitors encircled them as Razel tucked the tome into his robe.

_Please replace the Materials. This is your second warning. I have been authorized to use class III force._


	11. Ka-Bewm

Woodhouse and Ophelia backed away from their friend, the monitors parting to let them pass. They watched from outside the bubble of constructs as Razel counted the threats he could see.

_Please replace the Materials. This is your second warning. I have been authorized to use class III force._

Without a word he took off, speeding into the maze of information.  The cloud of constructs followed him, launching bolt after bolt of energy after the would-be thief.  Chunks of floor and clouds of dust shot up after his heels. Taking a turn further in, he left the visible purvey of his friends.

“Should we follow him from a distance?”

_Clatter clatter clack._

Cacophonous noise left no mystery regarding his direction.

“Agreed.”

Taking her again into his arms, the skeleton tore after the disturbance.

A patron looked up at the disturbance, yelling at the mage and his entourage as they passed.

“SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO STUDY HERE!”

Monitors clogged the aisle, their monotone droning echoing off of the shelves.

_Please replace the Materials. We have warned you. We will use class II force._

“EAT A BOWL...!”

_We lack digestive systems. Please replace the Materials. We have warned you. We will use class II force._

The bolts intensified, arcs of plasma coming dangerously close to his feet.  A leap over the railing and across the great chasm dropped him on the Non-Fiction side of the Sphere, while the monitors simply flew over the non-impeding feature. He rolled to his feet, trying to recall the path from before. The seething mana cutting a swath of floor in front of him changed his mind regarding where to turn. A distinct sense of being herded began to take root. Ophelia pointed toward the chasm ahead, the blemishes on the floor reassuring her that they were on the right path.

“That way. You’d think if they wanted it back they could at least re-light the directions.”

 _Clackety clatter clackety._                 

His bony feet clicked piercingly on the stone as he pursued them at obscene speed. The swarm of monitors came clearly into view, Razel’s ankles visible beyond the crowd. He shakily drew the book from his robe, struggling to hold on to it as he fled. Another wall of the constructs closed off the aisle, advancing to trap him between them. His heels squealed against the floor as he skidded to a stop, noting with an irritable smile that he had been led directly towards its designated spot.

_Please replace the Materials. We have warned you. We will use class II force._

Razel offered a final look to the book before he replaced it. Half of the monitors present returned to their duties while the others hummed menacingly.

_Thank you for your compliance. Please remove yourself from this Sphere immediately. This is your first warning._

Woodhouse placed Ophelia beside him, the two stopping mere inches behind the closest monitor.

“Razel, maybe we should do as they say.”

Razel shook his head.

“This book holds some sort of useful information. It’s the only physical lead we have. I’ll think of something.”

That was the concept that worried her the most.

_Please remove yourself from this Sphere immediately. This is your second warning. We will use class II force._

His hand reached for the book, a finger resting just next to it.

“Roz…don’t…”

A noise like a glacier calving precluded his disappearance, while the book followed suit. The Monitors silently left, making no indication of their eventual goal.

“Dammit…”

Closing her eyes, Ophelia began to review her memories of the reception area. A small rest balcony beyond the platform called to her, now serving as the egress of her dimensional bridge. She pulled Woodhouse through with her, emerging to see precisely what she expected.

Razel was surrounded by a bubble of Monitors, their casing colored a deep crimson.  The rime mage stared at them defiantly, destroying a unit here or there with his varying magics. For each unit blown, the bubble compacted. More arrived to fill the ranks, resulting in a field of containment that prevented any sort of escape.

_Drop the material. We have been authorized to use class I force. Comply._

Holding the tome closer to him, he smiled.

“Don’t want to shoot the book, eh? What if I threaten to burn it myself?”

_The destruction of material carries a heavier sentence than simply expulsion from the sphere. Feel free to remove the item which is preventing us from removing you. Drop the material. Comply._

“Razel, just do it! We have other leads!”

His head shook in frustration.

“No!”

He raised the book for emphasis.

“We can’t afford to let this-“

Realizing too late that he no longer had use of the tome as a shield, twelve rays of pure mana tore through him, piercing his shoulders and causing him to drop the book. Fire blossomed within his body as the pain ricocheted through him. Cries of agony fled his lips. Ophelia winced, watching his wounds begin to frost over slowly. A monitor zipped over to the tome, smacked away by the rime mage’s hand. More bolts shot through his wrists, drawing more screams and limping his arms. Ophelia pleaded with him from outside the bubble.

“Razel, please…let’s just go…”

His head again shook in defiance.

“Can’t…leave it…”

A spark flashed at the base of his neck. The tingling swallowing his limbs intensified into a vibrating pain. His eyes grew wide. Two more from the same place, arcing to his shoulders and burrowing into his wounds. The rime flash froze instantaneously, bubbling away and steaming from his new flesh. A shimmer wrapped him, the warmth compounding and warping light around his silhouette. A bolt of power stabbed from the distant ceiling, meeting a matching power which shot out of his body. On contact the energies intensified, the heat now palpable. The Madam frowned deeply.

 _Clack…clatter clatter_?

Wiping the earliest hints of tears from her eyes, she denied him.

“No. I need to see it for myself at least once.”

Power echoed from Razel in a tangible pulse, radiating out and causing the normally seamless casings of the monitors to buckle and boil. He doubled over as the pooling wracked his form. Another pulse shoved them further back, some crashing into the shelves.  Razel screamed at his friends, waving them away.

“GO! LEAVE! I’M…NOT…SAFE!”

Ophelia shook her head at him, covering her mouth and observing in clinical horror. His screams intensified, while another pulse caved a small dent in the floor beneath him. The mana was now cascading across his body, snatching and connecting lines of power without reason or direction.  His wounds, while gone, looked to source the majority of the flow. The heat within him was excruciating. By this point the monitors attempted to fire once again, their energies merely curving around him to spiral into the outbursts crackling on his skin. Another shot curved back to the monitors, devastating them into several piles of debris and scrap. Yet another pulse propelled them away, clearing the dais of everything except Razel and the book. His trembling hands reached for it, tucking the knowledge once more into his robe. Removing his hand, he found that it had at last ignited. The virulent blue flames spread up his arm, catching the whole of his flesh afire.

Woodhouse placed an arm around Ophelia, holding her tightly. Her face tightened as she watched the spectacle unfold. A new wave of Monitors arrived, their casings tinted an opalescent cobalt. They fared well against the first pulse, yet when they drew close enough to attempt and contain him, the next turned them to clouds of dust. A second legion appeared, forming a looser bubble extending from Razel to just before Ophelia’s ledge. They sparked to a life of their own, containing the danger in a flickering field to minimize collateral damage. His wails at the sight of burning rime wore at her soul while a Monitor rose to her eye level, chirping monotonously.

_Your safety is not guaranteed. Please evacuate this section, or remain at your own risk._

Ophelia glared at the monitor.

“I’ll stay for now.”

More of his screaming drew her attention, the fire now an unadulterated blaze. The pulses were frequent, the bubble of energy throbbing as the monitors struggled to contain the power. Waves of raw mana crashed against the inside of the field, spreading and rippling with utter force. His cries cut out, a change taking hold within him. The silence was complemented by the roar of his torch and the hum of the monitors.

His eyes held no sign of recognition, his face no mark of discomfort. Serene neutrality ruled as he stepped toward the shelves, the sphere of monitors matching his motions but stalling at the next shelf.

_Please step away from the materials. This will be your only warning. We are authorized to utilize Class I force._

Silence. Footsteps charred in his path as he drew closer to the aisles. The skin of the force field glinted a bright white, flaring and filling the space inside with sheer nonexistence. Visibility returned, revealing a partial perfectly spherical crater as well as Razel, unaffected and bright as midday sun. New footsteps followed as he continued. Another flash, with the same result. Once more the space bloomed with light, resolving with Razel on his knees but still burning. A final pulse stretched the field to its limits, cracking their casings but otherwise maintaining integrity.

“Here it comes…”

Woodhouse squeezed her tighter.

_Clatter clack clacker clatter._

“Not yet.”

He stayed limp when it lit. An explosion, certainly, but slower than an explosion had any right to be. The outer wall of the reaction crept from the planeswalker, consuming the ground as well as the space surrounding. Glacially it expanded, reaching out to embrace the inner confines of the field. The monitors strained and whined, some releasing frenzied series of clicks and pops, some simply falling silent. A hole revealed by the first to fall spewed fire, flowing like magma along the shield and disintegrating the units it touched. Cascading failure consumed the constructs, the flame intensifying and accelerating.

“Now we should go.”

Their lack of residence on the balcony went unnoticed as it was engulfed in ethereal power.  Sirens filled the air, drowned out by the sound of several legions of monitors attempting to contain the anomaly.  The renewed shield held the mana at bay, creaking and screaming but holding fast.  The monitors dotted the surface of the new sun at exact intervals, holding the roiling essence at bay. Relatively little of the shelves had been consumed, leaving much of the structure intact. No attempt at warning or coercion was made, instead all efforts being directed towards maintaining the control they still held.  Pressure within lightened slightly, prompting a partial collapse of the sphere. Seizing momentarily, the power rapidly collapsed on itself, accelerating and compacting until it tore through itself, consuming the field, monitors, and better part of the section in a blinding ball of misfortune.

Ophelia leaned against the wall of Razel’s manor, facing the oblivion surrounding the retreat. Her legs hung limply over the edge of the frozen platform as Woodhouse appeared at the corner of the building, approaching slowly and deliberately. His heels ticked loudly on the frost, announcing him. His phalanges extended, holding more of the amber elixir from before. Ophelia gladly took it, sipping lightly.

“Mmm. That’s not terrible. Makes me feel…happier. Somehow. What’s in this?”

_Clackety clatter, clack clack, clack clatter clackety._

“Devious. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

Unmistakable calving of shearing ice betrayed the arrival of the master of the house. At the sound Ophelia drew her legs back onto the safety of the ground, leaping to her feet and skittering around the building. Woodhouse was already beside him, supporting the mage as they crossed the bridge to approach the front door. Razel stepped weakly, not limping but still failing to gain complete power over his body. He looked up to Ophelia sadly, reaching into his robe and withdrawing a blackened husk. Large chunks of the cover flaked away, falling into the void below without as much as a ripple. Paper flew everywhere as it shattered on the ground, dropped to show how useful it now was.


	12. Report - The IPL1138 Eruption

_Administrative Report_

_Re: The IPL1138 Eruption_

_Filed by Tessellate Clerical Function BA42_

_Metric Year 654-067-124_

_Overview:_

_A Planeswalker we believe to be the same as the liability on Almucantara was sighted on IPL1138 and erupted again, causing more collateral damage. Our automated systems notified us of the incident. We arrived after the fact and obtained reports from the security entities._

_Background:_

_We received a report of an incident ending in an eruption similar if not identical to the event on Almucantara. Naturally, we dispatched an investigatory team at the earliest opportunity. Despite the shortcomings of IPL1138’s security drones, we were able to piece together a rough sequence of events. This was accomplished through the assistance of the automated security entity governing that sector of IPL1138, who offered us access to recordings of the drone’s alternate senses, which did not grant direct visual aid but gave us the sequence of events regardless._

_Incident:_

_On approximately MY 654-067-120, the Planeswalker arrived on IPL1138’s biological sphere. Administrative records state that there were at least six other ‘walkers on the sphere within this timeframe. The ‘walker proceeded to an access terminal, wherein he inquired as to the location of the information on Planeswalker Physiology. After locating a suitable book, he triggered the anti-theft mechanisms and set the sentries after him. From here we have actual information, limited as it is. After first returning the book, he resisted their attempt to get him to leave. A warning shot destroyed his artifact and took him to his knees, at which point he ‘walked and was shunted by their redirection matrix back to the original platform. Security proceeded to enclose him in an antipersonnel field, and after further resistance and belligerence the field was activated multiple times. At this time the ‘walker began to erupt, and within moments the sentries were consumed and a large part of that particular sphere obliterated._

_Conclusions:_

_First and foremost, we must not rule out the possibility of accomplices. Records indicate arrivals close to the planeswalker in question, yet the eruption itself seared away what scars were caught in its radius. His inquiry as well as his presence on IPL1138 suggests that he is aware of his state and actively trying to correct it – this speaks towards his character, but based on the recorded audio we could decipher, he seems possessed more by self-preservation than nobility. The book in question was not recovered from the scene, although if it was nearby when the ‘walker erupted it is more than likely lost. The sentries destroyed an artifact of his, which speaks to him being prepared. The Antipersonnel field seems to have exacerbated the eruption as well, possibly triggering it or accelerating the process._

_Having reviewed the previous report, there is no doubt that this is the same planeswalker we encountered on Almucantara. The event is the same in nature, and the relative proximity of the eruptions suggests that it is a chronic occurrence.  Without another incident to gauge time between them, we can only speculate. Still, our speculation yields progress. We have combed our databases for liabilities matching the vague description, and come up with a sub collection of thirty-six individuals who matched our criteria. I do not have the utmost faith in the selection, however, as the image was not a good one. Our decisions hinged on previous encounters with the Academy. We are comparing the limited vocal sample to what recordings we have available as we can locate them, but so far there are no positive matches. The constituent energies of the eruption were a perfect match to the Almucantara event, further assuring us of their link. His mental state has calmed, at least to the point of proactivity. Where on Almucantara he was drunk and presumably in pain, here he was desperate and anxious. The crater is larger than the one left on Almucantara, and if the eruptions are also increasing in severity it may explain why he is looking for a solution. I have reached out to Karl Superior and requested that he look into the phenomena, as you suggested. Per his ordinance, he will be copied on all further communication regarding this case._

_Our cell in the Tenth reported nothing out of the ordinary within their ranks. All the recent disappearances were suspected to be the work of other guilds, and their own investigatory aspect was already working through those cases._

_The hunters assigned are, as expected, still looking. Extreme prejudice is still very much warranted – not only is he out of control, he is desperate. His inquiry into IPL1138 implies that he will be looking elsewhere as well, which is where I suggest we shift our focus. I have compiled an additional list of events and or locations wherein we already hold a presence that may offer knowledge regarding Planeswalker Anatomy. Each operative is to be provided with a redacted copy of this report as well as the report on MY_ _654-067-015 to ensure they are up to speed. Of special interest are the Conferences and Medical stores, especially those with publicly accessible databanks._

_It seems clear to me that the Planeswalker is attempting to ‘cure’ itself. Should we discern the nature of the eruption as well as a solution, we may consider offering them as a parley to convince this ‘walker to join us, as he has not properly rejected our offer as far as we know. While not a suggestion, it is a thought I hope you take under review. We are an organization sworn to safety, and while no tears will be shed over this liability’s corpse, neither will they be shed for the successful addition of a new recruit._


	13. Osaxah

A scent of Brine filled the air, blown down the hill and into the plain from the cliff at the edge of the realm. A diminutive village nestled at the base of the hill, livestock corralled by their fields, a pond frothing under the small waterfall fed by the stream which traced a path from the central peak of the continent. Visible in the extreme distance, the peak of Osaxah shimmered in the sunlight, multitudes of buildings glinting brightly. A field of grain, constantly waving in the eternal breeze, shook fiercely as it was displaced by three travelers. The ripple of motion remained unnoticed by the peasantry at large, many of whom seemed to be taking their meals inside. Ophelia led them out of the field, stopping to make sure Woodhouse’s cloak was secure in the wind.

“Well gents, this is Osaxah. We’re going to be camping here for a few days in preparation.”

Razel smiled at the scenery.

“It’s very pleasant. I’m assuming this is a façade, or…?”

The madam shook her head, dispelling the concern outright.

“This is, legitimately, just a small, unassuming hamlet. It’s the location that makes it worth our while.”

“Location?”

“I’ll explain later. First things first; we’ll need lodgings.”

The path into town was short and unpaved, but well-worn from centuries of use. Razel looked at his feet worriedly as he went, swaying on occasion. The Inn loomed higher than the storefronts surrounding it. A smattering of locals milled about town, some smiling at the travelers, some ignoring them.  The door opened with a loud chime, calling the attendant’s attention away from the book on the counter and up to the Madam in the doorway.

“Come in, come in! What a pleasant surprise! We don’t usually get pilgrims for the Dark Sleep for another day yet.”

Ophelia leaned over the counter, squeezing her arms together and showcasing her ‘talents’ out of habit.

“I’m glad you’re so well read, good sir…Sadly, my companions and I were robbed on the road here, and we are without money…is there any way we can work off a few night’s stay?”

The innkeeper eyed her warily, his gaze drawn distractingly to Ophelia’s assets.

“Well, it’s our busiest time of year, and we could really use the income…”

His gaze shifted to the other two. Knowing better than to disagree, Razel played along.

“If it’s as busy as you say, we could help with the cleaning and serving for a few hours a day. Take a half shift each to make sure you aren’t overwhelmed with the influx of travelers.”

Woodhouse drooped imperceptibly, assuming this meant he would be doing the majority of the serving.  The man behind the counter stroked his chin thoughtfully, looking from Roz to Ophelia to her Assets to Roz to Ophelia again.

“…alright. One room for the lot of you. Two of you help me during supper and one of you help me clean after the fact. I’ll go for Four days stay if you do.”

Ophelia smiled sweetly, taking the key from the man and noting the direction of their room.

“Thank you very much, Mister…”

“Rendell.”

“Thank you, Mister Rendell.”

Mr. Rendell’s cheeks flushed as he watched the group walk away. A clattering made him briefly question what they were carrying, but the promise of free help made him stop caring immediately.

_Clack clatter clack clackety?_

The Madam unlocked the door, leading them into the modest quarters and closing it behind them before she elaborated.

“It’s a local thing. Once every few months, this area experiences a day or three of no dreams. Several organizations make pilgrimages here for that purpose. They climb to the top of the cliff overlooking the endless sea and stare, or so I was told.”

Razel slipped the strap of his bag and dropped it on the floor, sitting on the foot of the bed.

“Dreamlessness, huh? Does it have anything to do with whatever’s screwing up my sense of balance?”

_Clackety Clack clatter clackety!_

The Madam strode over to the bag on the floor, rummaging through it and extracting a handful of items. She laid them on the end table, rolling out a rough parchment map.

“I was going to explain that next. This continent, this Realm, is ‘Osaxah’. It is a world of water, covered completely in an unbroken sea. The land we’re currently on is actually a floating continent, full sized, which aeons ago was sent shooting around the realm, floating above the ocean. This village is right at the edge of the continent, which is why there is that persistent breeze. It’s also why you’ll notice it blows away from the cliffs. That’s the direction we’re going in at all times.”

Thoughts fermented in his mind as Razel processed this.

“This is a great place to keep a Prison Hulk, then. How do these people get to and from the Water?”

“They don’t. According to my sources, going over the edge is a form of capital punishment. With no other landmasses, it’s a certain death. This doesn’t even account for the local aquatic wildlife. There is an inland sea, but the logistics of getting around it are usually easier than crossing it.”

“So what’s our Itinerary?”

“Well, we’re going to take the next few days to practice a few skills, and then we’re going to sneak aboard the _Arcona_ , infiltrate the facility, find Impulse of Thought, and interrogate him.”

“Inquire.”

“I’m sorry?”

“We’re going to ‘Inquire’ of him. I don’t ‘interrogate’.”

“Whatever you say. We should find a place to train.”

Ophelia stood and turned to leave. Razel stepped over to Woodhouse, pulling the cloak from his bones and looking him over.

“You need to look a little less…dead.”

Expressing confusion as best he could, Woodhouse cocked his skull to the side. Razel proceeded to transmute the cloak into a more ‘complete’ article of clothing, hiding the bony nature and making the house guard appear emaciated as opposed to deceased. A wrap around the head finalized the conversion, making him ready for his mute service.

“Better.”

The trio made their way out of the Inn, Woodhouse taking his leave and finding the innkeeper to assist with the meal preparations. Rime mage and vampire strode side by side through the town towards the edge of the woods, a secluded clearing further in offering them discretion.  Placing her hands on her hips in satisfaction, Ophelia addressed Razel.

“This seems like a good enough spot.”

“Without knowing what we’re practicing, I can only agree.”

“Flight!”

Razel’s face became droll.

“I am terrible with flight.”

“Come on, I’ve seen you chase things before. You glide like a natural.”

“That’s just directing myself after a jump. You say flight, I assume you mean actual midair movement.”

“I do!”

“And I’m telling you, I’m terrible at it.”

Ophelia glared at him in frustration.

“Roz, it’s like running in the air. You direct yourself with intent and focus on it.”

“Right. Except that I can’t do it very well. I can’t even ascend much without a verbal pattern to keep me focused.”

“What about an enchantment, or some artifact that grants you flight? Some spell to give you the capability?”

Razel Shrugged.

“I’ve never had to try them. I can teleport anywhere I can see, excepting places with defenses.  What use is flight? Hells, I could just ‘port from point to point in the sky if I had to.”

“Sadly, that won’t work in this case. I’ll have to find something we can give you for magical suspension. Maybe anchor it where you do your Witchbane.”

“Care to explain why I need to fly instead of…well, anything else?”

“Stealth, among other things.  It’s quieter to insert ourselves through sustained magical flight than tear open holes in reality.”

Razel found he couldn’t deny the logic. Instead, another question rose from his mind.

“What about Woodhouse?”

“Whatever we figure out for you will work for him too.”

The sunlight was beginning to fade, twilight casting an array of colors through the woods. The omnipresent rustling of leaves droned on as the two mages returned to their accommodations, momentarily satisfied with their surroundings.  As supper rolled around, they changed their attire to a local uniform, flattering absolutely none of them. The service was quaint and deceptively busy, with only two tables mixed up all night. The ‘walkers reveled in doing something manually, maintaining a performance while running their plans in the back of their heads.  The meal drew to a close without ceremony, an empty dining room the only note at the end of the shift. Mr. Rendell thanked them, offering each a generous if unnecessary meal as thanks. The trio took their prizes to the room, setting the plates on a vanity and dragging the table to the middle of their space.

Woodhouse leaned against the now closed door, while Ophelia sat at the end of the bed, laying out all of her items. Razel reclined next to the window, occasionally gazing out of it and into the night. The table was littered with diagrams, charts, sketches, and dossiers.  One clearly depicted the continent of Osaxah, with an arrow indicating the direction of travel and a circle directly in its path. One sketch was presumably of the _Arcona_ itself, an imposing hulk with tall walls. The size implied at least six decks, with more below the waterline probable. Beside the sketch was a diagram of a shield array, as well as a map of something extending for many miles around the ship itself.

Ophelia took the map of Osaxah and tapped it.

“In roughly three days, Osaxah will go directly overhead of the _Arcona_. This is our limited window of opportunity. We will need impeccable timing to make this work. If we mess it up, we can still try, but chances are we’ll either fail and have to flee or we’ll get caught and imprisoned ourselves.”

Razel did not look pleased at this.

“Why is it a limited timeframe? And what’s this shield here?”

Ophelia took the sheet from under his finger and reviewed it.

“It’s their deflector shield. My reports indicate that they activate a barrier when Osaxah is overhead to protect from debris and the like. It’s a physical barrier, so we have to get within the radius before it activates.”

“Again, why can’t we just-”

Razel stopped himself as he felt the smothering wave consume him. Coming from the cliff and careening inward, Razel felt the lock field almost after the hardcoded panic it inspired. Seeing his face, Ophelia spoke up swiftly.

“It’s part of the prison! They have a lock field. That’s what the large circle is, here. It prevents any sort of dimensional travel through the usual means, which is why we can’t just ‘port in and about.”

Eyes wide, he slowed his breath, calming himself as it began to make sense.

“I should have expected that. Any prison that can hold Planeswalkers would need something to that effect.”

“Do you see why we need to fly now?”

Woodhouse cocked his bound head again, gesturing arbitrarily at the table. Razel interpreted his meaning intuitively.

“We’ll give you something that lets you fly as well, which you’d know if you had been paying attention.”

Ophelia began rolling up the maps, replacing them within her bag.

“Thankfully, we have two and a half days to practice.”


	14. Send it Soaring

Ophelia strode beside Razel excitedly, bouncing on her toes. She chattered away at him, offering a solution to his problem with navigating the Z-Axis.

“-and if we find one with that sealed in the frame, you should be able to use it to focus the energies for you.”

“So you’re making me a Tuning Fork that doesn’t shut up.”

“No, I’m making one _for_ you. Different.”

The house guard idly marched beside them.

“And how will this help Woodhouse if he doesn’t have the same energies to direct?”

She thought about this for a moment.

“You’re right. Still, giving him the capability to fly and then the power to direct it is more or less just another step to what we’re doing for you. We could probably just obtain two flight artifacts and strip the source for one of them, then rekey it to direct _your_ energies.”

“That…makes sense? Woodhouse, you know what we’re looking for, then. Go ahead and find some.”

With a respectful bow, the house guard fled away, disappearing over the horizon. Birds chirped loudly around them, while sounds of tourism radiated from the square.  Pilgrims had begun pouring in through the night, the Lock field and the dreams it prevented drawing the fanatical from all edges of the realm. Booths were being set up, with the local militia dressed in their adequate best. The hill shot out of the ground along the back of the buildings lining the main road. The pair found an open bench, reclining to observe the patrons while they waited for the guard’s return.  Razel couldn’t help but feel as though something wasn’t right.  He tried to dismiss it, arguing with himself that life wasn’t right at the moment. The logic did little to assuage the notion, while the lingering pull of the lock only fueled his paranoia.  Ophelia leaned on him, their outward appearance that of a pilgrim couple.  He mused his thoughts on the celebrations, dismissing his concern and stuffing it away to deal with later.

“I love festivals. Not that my record of appearances would bear that out.”

Ophelia rested her head on his shoulder as she eyed the crowd.

“What, you mean that one you keep trashing?”

“Yeah, Festival of Ol’as. It’s actually rather nice. The architecture is solid, but ornate. Lots of fiddly details. Their vendors are always well stocked, and the wares, near as I can tell, are well made. Even the magical shields are set to shimmer in pleasing ways. Were it not for…well, me, I might consider it a decent event.”

Ophelia looked to the clouds creeping past, finding no inspiration.

“Why do you do that, anyway? What’s wrong with it?”

“At the center of the town is a Statue. Their ‘Lord Ol’as’ is actually a planeswalker who appeared to them as a god, ages and ages ago. He left the locals with a few customs, as well as a design for the statue and several-day ritual involving the revelry of the populace. Once a decade, they hold the festival. Their mirth and the like is taken into the statue, repurposed, and sent on its merry way. My patron caught wind of this and requested I disrupt it. She only requested the once, but…I don’t care for the ‘walker involved, so I suppose the next several appearances were more out of pettiness than loyalty. Still, that caused the whole host of complications I only just got through.”

“Someone finally stood up to you, huh?”

He shook his head.

“No, folks had tried to stop me before. By doing it over and over, a rumor started, and the Academy got wind of it. They make a point to investigate most if not all reports of unusual activity, especially if it fits their profiles. So one of the hunters found me, I dispatched him, and the rest you know.”

The madam frowned as she remembered the incident at the Library several nights prior. That probably attracted some attention.

“How long do they take to investigate?”

He shrugged.

“Depends on the report. When I was still with them, we’d be dispatched the moment it was done with analysis. It also depends on how long it takes them to get it. There are agents of the Academy in places I didn’t think possible, but they are still a finite number of individuals in an infinite multiverse. I learned to simply assume they’re everywhere and be pleasantly surprised if they aren’t.”

Ophelia smirked, thinking of her own network of informants.

“You just described most intelligence agencies. Once you start working at the interplanar level, you spend a lifetime overwhelmed with the amount of information you can gather, only to spend the rest of your next life astounded at the things you’ve missed. After that, most take the same stance you do.”

He shrugged, jostling her unintentionally.

“Only reason I feel that way is ‘because I’ve been on the other side of it. The Academy is overwhelming in its own way.”

“Do you think there are any agents here?”

His eyes scanned the crowd, casually hopping from one individual to the next. Variance among their outfits told him they came from every corner of the realm, which spoke to his sense of anonymity. A lack of conspicuous behavior did not preclude the possibility, but instead maintained the uncertain acceptance of the scenario.

“Look at it from their perspective. There’s a Lock Field, which is always a draw for unusual activity. They doubtlessly know of the prison, so they might have someone here to monitor it for anomalies. As for why…I can’t think of anything. There’s nothing to gain here. A prison restrains the liabilities, which actually helps their purpose, so they won’t try to unmake it. Were I in charge of this sector, I’d send a single agent to observe and report after the fact under strict orders not to engage. Standard procedure for places of possible interest.”

She sat up straight, resting her arm along the back of the seat.

“You’re not far off. My sources reported two observers at the last fest. Stands to reason that they’d maintain the level of presence.”

“Maybe. Did anything happen to draw their attention?”

“Nothing was passed on. So far as I know, it was uneventful.”

Razel nodded to himself while she continued.

“Just to be sure, we should try to stay below the canopy while we practice. Don’t want to make anyone curious.”

She turned to face him, instead spying the wrapped visage of the house guard placed directly between them.  A quick start caught her in surprise while Woodhouse extended two identical objects made of a dull metal. The tuning fork analogy seemed adequate in describing their shapes as well. Razel took one, looking it over and noting the contour of the device, shaped to fit beside and along the spine, outside the clothes. Ophelia caught her breath, glaring at the skeleton. She addressed them both.

“Alright, these look like they’ll do the trick. Where and how did you get them?”

_Clackety clack clatter clackety._

The rime mage cocked an eyebrow at his servant.

“That’s surprisingly noble of you. Still, good that it wasn’t theft. How big was this city?”

_Clatter clack clatter clackety._

Ophelia whistled.

“They’ve done some civil improvement since my last visit. I wish I could have seen it. Good job on these. They’re exactly what we need.”

_Clack Clack Clackety?_

His master frowned at him.

“That’s an excellent question. We should check up on that.”

The trio moved away from the bench, meandering their way back to the Inn.  Mr. Rendell stood behind the counter, scribing furiously in his ledger as he evened the till for the day. He looked up from the work to smile at his guests before diving right back into it. A timepiece nearby let them know that it was still somewhat early, while their agreed shifts would not start for a short while. Stride unbroken, they continued into their room, locking the door behind them.

Ophelia briskly tore the wrappings off of Woodhouse’s frame, while Razel flopped onto the bed and stared intently at his device. Adjusting the length and angle of the tines, the madam laid it against Woodhouse’s shoulder blades, attaching it through a magical anchor while she re-wrapped him, binding it with the cloth as well. Assured that it was secure and pleased with the placement, Ophelia stepped back and admired the house guard.

“Perfect. Can’t even tell it’s there. Can you levitate at all?”

Woodhouse drew his gaze uncertainly to his feet, not sure of how to answer. A simulated breath filled his chest. He began to float gradually higher as the ‘breath’ was released. Stopping a foot or so above the floor, he spun slowly in place, gaining his bearings on controlling this new ability. Within moments he found his groove, skating over the floor as though his feet were held up by invisible blades. Ophelia’s smile persisted as she turned to face Razel.

“Well, Woodhouse has the basics. What’re you considering?”

Razel had placed his fingers on either side of the artifact, his eyes half-closed as he mumbled to himself.

“I wanted to know why I couldn’t just use the flight power source from the device. Why would we re-route it again?”

“Intuitive control. Flying a thing is different from flying yourself. You’re more likely to pick it up if it’s you doing it, and we need to get you as good as we can.”

He shrugged.

“Well, I think I’ve disconnected it from its source. Just need to-Hey, what-”

Her hands took the device, prying back a panel and digging into the circuitry inside.

“You could do that the easy way and just remove the power stone.”

She held up a small glowing crystal, tossing the machine back to him. His brow tightened in irritation.

“This technology is awfully advanced for an unassuming hamlet.”

“Not for the central city.”

He ignored her as he replaced the panel.

“The less I know about the internal components the better. Too many variables.”

It was her turn to express confusion and incredulity.

“That makes no…how are you going to reroute it if you don’t know how it works?”

“I know how it works. It makes you fly.”

“But…but HOW it does-”

“Doesn’t matter. Technology, Art, Accidental emergent design, all of it is just a means of directing your intent to a specific end. The finer point of the means is a matter for those who don’t warp reality.  You see a complex device – I see an overly complicated lens.”

“You make no sense sometimes.”

“Well, sense or not, how else do you suggest we reconfigure a device with no power source?”

Her cheeks flushed as she pocketed the power stone.

“Alright, you have a point. So what are you going to do, talk to it?”

“Don’t I usually? Like I said, the less I know about the components the better. More variables mean more to keep track of and more that can go wrong. So, instead of adjusting it on the physical level, I modify the intent. I reshape the lens, so to speak. This shouldn’t be too difficult, although it might take me an hour or so. Mostly it’s making a connection between it and myself.”

Woodhouse slammed loudly into the end table, knocking a bowl of water onto the floor. He sheepishly pulled himself up, stepping onto the ground and reaching for a towel to clean his mess.

“You go ahead and work on that. I’m going to take Woodhouse and cover our shift for the night. Make sure you get that functional, ‘because we need to start practice tomorrow.”

He nodded, cradling his fingers on either side of the tines.

“Come on, Woodhouse.”

The towel landed neatly on its rack, tossed aside as the two left Razel to his process.


	15. In his Defenestration

A thin mist cloaked the lagoon, the waterfall surging onto the rocks from at least six meters up.  The three travelers stepped into the clearing surrounding the pool, the wall of trees reaching towards their tops blisteringly high up. This sinkhole in the canopy gave a view of the peak further inland that fed the river, while the slight tilt of the trees made clear the direction of the breeze. Woodhouse skated along the ground, his proficiency with the device growing by the moment. Razel and Ophelia followed closely behind him, skating along as well. The Madam’s motions were swift and sure, while the rime mage was unsteady and awkward.

His house guard skated across the water, lifting his feet and gliding about. Streaks of sunlight tore into the clearing, catching motes of dust and grime in the crossfire. Ophelia cleared her throat and spoke.

“Alright. We need to cover some very specific things in a very limited timeframe. We need to learn maneuvering at speed and abrupt deceleration.”

“Turning and stopping.”

“Exactly. There’s no way to know the exact size of the _Arcona_ , or the speed of this continent in relation to it. We’ll need to be able to find it, just not face-first.”

Razel shrugged, attempting to raise himself a little higher. At sight of Woodhouse flying in excessive loops, he frowned to himself and shot towards the waterfall, attempting to bank at the last moment and instead careening through the cascade, bouncing off of one of the rocks and into a tangle of branches. Ophelia snickered at him.

“That’s why we’re practicing then. Good use of the waterfall though. We’ll keep that up.”

A loud series of cracks and thuds ended with the loud landing of the rime mage, directly onto his spine. He blinked a few times to clear the stars.

“The wounds heal, but the pain still disorients. That seem fair to you?”

“Oh, stuff it. We have work to do.”

Several hours and failed attempts later, progress had been made, even if minute. Woodhouse zipped about cheerfully, spiraling and looping and banking with ease. Ophelia praised his talent, while Razel could only bring himself to point out that the guard was used to moving at those speeds. Bitterness aside, the rime mage made slow improvements. Within a few tries he was able to avoid the stone entirely, and by the end of the night he was coming up wet, but on course.

Moonlight beamed through the fog, acting as an obstacle course for Woodhouse to practice avoiding. Razel ignored the lights, rearing back for another attempt. He launched himself forward, tearing past the levitating skeleton and pulling sharply up, streaking into the sky. Ophelia craned her head up to watch him descend, noting with a smile that his clothes were dry.

“Very nice! One day’s practice and you can turn on a coin.”

He shook his head, the water in his bangs suggesting otherwise.

“Close enough for now. We’ll start on braking tomorrow.”

Their shift was, as before, a good chance to decompress from their journey thus far. Considerably more travelers had arrived through the day, and some appeared quite old. While their bodies were wrapped in a manner much like Woodhouse’s, they moved with weakness and frailty. The seniority was obvious enough to prompt inquiry from the Madam to the Innkeep. He looked at her skeptically, but explained anyway.

“They’re jumpers. They think the lack of dreams is some sort of portal to the afterlife, or ‘dream void’ as they call it. When they get old enough, they trek to then leap off of the cliff in the middle of the dreamless week.”

Her eyes looked to Woodhouse, who was busy gathering dishes with fierce efficiency. The other wrapped patrons seemed impressed with him, not expecting one so vigorous to ascribe to the fanatical ideal. The Innkeep returned to his work, and the rest of their shift passed without incident.

Their focus shifted the next day from maneuvering to stopping. Ophelia led them to the lagoon once more, standing across from the waterfall to watch from the side.

“So the exercise is simple – Get yourself up to speed, but instead of avoiding it, stop.”

Woodhouse clattered loudly as he mimed laughter, launching himself with signature speed and coming up precisely against the wall of water. Ophelia clapped for him while Razel scowled.

“You’re used to moving at those speeds. Unfair advantage.”

“It’s not a Contest, Razel. Give it a shot.”

He glared at her, propelling forward and managing to catch himself inches from the rock face behind the waterfall, yet still well within the flow of it. His scowl remained while he floated slowly back to the shore. Ophelia managed to suppress a giggle as she spoke.

“That wasn’t awful for your first try. Let’s approach this differently. Try going up to it at moderate speed, and keep increasing it as you get better at coming up short.”

The idea was sound, although it was only with the rest of the evening that he managed to get himself to a comparable level as the day before.  By the time their shift rolled around, Woodhouse had long since wandered back to assist with setting tables. Another uneventful service served only to show the large flux of visitors.  While still a far cry from the crowds of an industrial market, it was certainly more people than the hamlet was meant to accommodate. Tables chattered among themselves about the day to come, many of the wrapped elderly seeming quite at peace with their affairs. Cleaning up took longer than the prior shifts, which bothered the trio none at all. Mr. Rendell was overjoyed to see the Inn in pristine condition the next morning, offering countless thank-yous and offers of hospitality for festivals to come.

The hill was clogged in the brisk morning breeze by the throngs of sightseers. A line of the wrapped old men stood at the edge, holding hands and looking out over the sea beneath. Razel and company climbed up beside them, taking in the scene for the first time. The cliff dropped off at an immediate sheer face, the buffeting winds having long since smoothed any crags. Far, far below them they spied the water, yet the height prevented them from making out any surface detail beyond the fleeting greens and blues. They estimated that they were several thousand meters up, but without any sort of visual marker they had no way to guess how fast they were going. One of the old men spoke hoarsely to the rest, his comment seizing the trio’s attention.

“Remember, the ship will appear only if you believe in it.”

Razel turned to face the man, his curiosity peaked.

“What ship?”

“The ship of dreams. We leap from here to get to the ferry which takes us across the endless sea to the source of the dream void so that we may be at rest.”

Razel nudged Ophelia as he asked another question.

“So you’ve seen it?”

“I have been to many of these gatherings, but I was not ready to leap until now. The ship is a myth to some, but…yes, I’ve seen it. It appears on the horizon before it streaks beneath us and disappears. It’s been discerned that it waits precisely in the center of the emptiness, which is how we know it is connected. Today I will join my family on the other side.”

“Well, I’m happy for you. Not many have that convi-”

The old man’s hand grasped the rime mage’s shirt in excitement, prompting them to follow his gaze to the horizon. Indeed, barely visible but approaching fast was a small, angular shape, shrouded in a thickening mist. It sped towards them, with their estimates leaving only a matter of minutes before it arrived. Ophelia casually activated Woodhouse and Razel’s devices, observing the ship and doing a quick calculation. She turned to face Razel, nodding and motioning over the edge. He turned back to the old man.

“Sir, you have instilled a sense of peace within me and my companions. I wish you the best on your journey.”

“Thank you, but-”

Razel casually stepped off the edge, followed closely by Woodhouse. Ophelia smiled sweetly at the old man before following suit. At their start, several more plunged from the cliff, resulting in a cloud of bodies careening towards the water. The continent made its best effort to disrupt them, the motion pressing it against them and sliding them down the smooth face.  The trio placed their feet on the rock, angling their descent and leading some of the other pilgrims to try the same. Once their speed leveled out, the three waved to the rest of the lemmings and shoved off of the stone, propelling themselves towards the haze hiding their goal. The true scale of the cloud caught them off guard, consuming their visibility while they were buffeted by the airflow. The interior of the mist gave way just above the water level, causing them to abruptly change course and skim across the surface. Their days of practice proved worthwhile, and they pulled closer together to yell over the noise.

“Alright, not much Time! Don’t break the surface and don’t hit the hull hard enough to be heard!”

The other two nodded at Ophelia, before Razel nodded at his guard. Woodhouse pulled up a little higher, disappearing from view afore splashing loudly behind them. The Madam looked to Razel in confusion, who in turn yelled back.

“Back up plan! Don’t worry about it! Easier to infiltrate as a pair!”

She rolled her eyes at him, keeping her gaze focused on the space ahead. Sounds of water crashing into something crept into their awareness as they drew closer.  Without warning, the mist ceased a few meters from the hull itself, a wall of wood popping into view. The sudden appearance of the ship prompted them both to turn sharply in opposite directions, staying low and close to the hull as they slowed themselves in a loop around the ship. An access ladder climbed the side of the craft, which served as a perfect place for them to stop. Ophelia sped towards it, pulling up and stopping a few rungs up, dropping lightly onto the ladder with grace expected of a natural flier. Razel, on the other hand, careened towards the metal, stopping slightly too far and having to grab onto a rung hurriedly to prevent his own descent to the bottom.

The _Arcona_ was surprisingly stable, showing none of the roll expected of a vessel reliant on buoyancy. It was doubtlessly the correct ship, as the name so boldly proclaimed beside the ladder.  The main deck sat far above the waterline, while the wheelhouse rose gregariously higher above that. The forecastle was barely visible from the side, yet on the whole it seemed…off. The aesthetic was there, but the craft reminded Razel more of someone who had once heard of a ship, and was trying to make something else with a vague resemblance pass as one. Several more splashes caught their attention, each landing closer than the last. Hair bristled on the two walkers as the _Arcona_ rumbled from within, a magical shield coalescing in a vivid cerulean dome overhead. The splashes were replaced by wet, meaty sizzles and the smell of overcooked roast. The shield began to dispel the already thinning mist, revealing through an azure tint the continent speeding by above. Its shadow could barely be made out as it consumed the horizon, darkness overtaking the open sea surrounding the ship. The shield lit the space within itself, casting severe shadows.

The pair climbed cautiously, pausing at the sound of a loud ‘squeak’. A rather large rat, enamored with the two, squeaked again and scampered up a thick chain, following it around the back of the wheelhouse. The planeswalkers shrugged at each other, returning to their ascension. Another squeak, louder this time, made them stop and look, spying the same rat peeking around the corner. It squeaked once more and nodded for them to follow. The pair blinked confusedly before shrugging to each other and following the rodent along the chain.

The corroded metal led them towards a pair of windows, large apertures filling the back of the wheelhouse and lined with some manner of shielding. The emitters were cool to the touch, and the field they would normally project instead offered its power to the deflector cast above. Following the rodent inside, they dropped lightly to their feet and hid behind a large generator. The dull hum rumbled through the flooring, and the sharp blue light cast through the windows offered plenty of shadows to take refuge in. The pair removed themselves from sight, setting Ophelia’s knapsack between them and distributing their tools. Razel replaced the skyhook with his Witchbane orb, which Ophelia dutifully placed in her bag. A pair of simple face wraps covered their more discernible features. Upon completion, Razel took the bag, checking its weight before tossing it out the window. Ophelia glared at him viciously, whispering in irritation.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Just trust me, alright?”


	16. ARCONA

Squeakers, as Ophelia had decided to refer to him, nudged the door to the wheelhouse lightly, chirping at the unexpected guests. The sounds of guards above the window flittered down into the room below as they investigated the splash of her pouch.

“See anything?”

“No floater, so it isn’t a jumper that missed the shield. Probably another rat. They keep coming up from the pods below. Those claws can’t catch all the time, know what I mean?”

“Yeah, the shield was already up, so you’re probably right. Ugh. I wish something would happen.”

Ophelia smiled to Razel and stood gingerly. Her footfalls caressed the floor, silently conveying her to the exit. Hinges slid soundlessly as the door swung open, blue light streaming in through the frame. Razel remained hidden in the shadowed recess, watching his companion creep out of the door and behind a barrel, just out of sight of the stairwell to the deck atop the wheelhouse. Footsteps urged him to hurry, ducking beside her just as the guards came down the steps and leaned over the edge further down from the containers hiding the intruders.

“At least it’s a nice view.”

Ophelia gestured to Razel, motioning him to go to the other side and catch them unaware. Hopping cover from the Barrel to under the staircase, he made his way towards the forecastle, creeping into position.

“Oh hey, a floater! Must’ve got a good run-up off the cliff.”

The body bobbed in the water, the black glass revealing only half of the corpse. It approached the ship, thumping lightly against the hull before being drawn down by the undercurrent. Ophelia leaned out behind her blockade, coordinating their attack. On her mark, Razel stepped briskly out of the alcove, wasting no time in burying his fingers in the back of the closest guard’s neck. Raising his weapon, the second man stopped when he felt the hand on his shoulder, spinning to face the fist which knocked him unconscious and over the edge. Razel withdrew his fingers, tossing the barely conscious body to Ophelia as he openly took in the layout of the deck. She dragged the guard over to the stairwell, propping him up and slapping him to get a response.

“Hey. Wake up.”

He groggily lifted his eyes, pale and weak but defiant to the end.

“Sod off.”

She slapped him again, Razel ignoring the exchange in order to inspect the ship.

“Try that again.”

“Sod-”

She slapped him harder this time, which seemed to grant him some of his color back. He spit blood onto the deck and spoke up.

“This is pointless. Why are you here? Even if you get whatever you come for, how would you leave?”

“I’m asking the questions. Where do you keep the high-risk prisoners?”

“You can’t make me tell you.”

Razel stepped over and crouched beside Ophelia, looking to his two extended digits and watching with amusement as the helix grew and sharpened from his fingertips. Razel cocked his head, looking from the frozen augur very obviously to the guard’s temple.

“If you want to get technical…”

The eyes widened as they took in the length of the item, fear evident.

“Bottom level. Under the generator hulk and below the clear pods.”

Razel smiled and tossed the icicle overboard, returning to his inspection. Ophelia pressed on.

“How do we get down there?”

The guard smiled, a notion which made her uncomfortable. His ragged breathing crept through a devious grin.

“Take the lift, if you can.”

“What do you mean, if you can?”

Razel called over to her, standing in a doorway across the deck.

“This lift?”

The interior was significantly more advanced than the planking of the hulk, with smooth clear surfaces composing the walls. A cylindrical platform rested inside, flanked by a console buried in buttons. The guard’s face became a vignette of confusion.

“But…the personnel field… You shouldn’t even be able to…”

Knowing better than to let someone explain to Razel why something couldn’t work, Ophelia took comfort in the fact that it simply did and snapped the guard’s neck, lobbing him overboard to be with his coworker. She brushed her hands off and joined the rime mage on the platform, watching squeakers hustle in with them.  The wooden door slid closed, leaving them in the faint glow of the emergency light. Countless buttons were covered in residual deposits, except for two which showed signs of heavy use.  Choosing the one closest, Razel pressed it, resulting in the door re-opening.

“Well. Guess that makes it…”

His finger depressed the remaining button, closing the door once more and causing the platform to shudder. The floor started to descend, creaking softly while the deck climbed past their heads. Darkness enveloped them, sounds of machinery gliding away on the other side of the chute. A noticeable shift in the pressure was announced by a faint _whup_ , the clear tube now showcasing the sea beneath the hulk.

The inky black was cast with writhing sapphire shadows, dancing along the support structures mounting the false ship in place. The surface was above them, the shield filling the view and steaming at its outer edges where it met the ocean. The guard from earlier was drifting slowly towards the seafloor, as a leaf from a tree. The current caught him, and like the breeze, took him away. There were no fish to be seen, and the lack of algae or other such growth impressed Razel’s sense of cleanliness while arousing his curiosity. The blue sun thrashing at the surface slowly grew dimmer and smaller, eventually disappearing entirely. For several minutes they could see only the near-imperceptible glow of the components for their platform, a disk of light ringing their feet as they fell through the emptiness.

“So…ominous much?”

“Demoralization is standard operation to the OEP, Razel. They want you to know exactly where you stand.”

“You had said your network knows nothing about the facility itself. Was that true?”

She frowned at him.

“Of course it was. The most I’ve been able to get doesn’t help with our goal. The cells are transparent, like the shaft here. Normally it’s well lit, so you can see the vast nothing surrounding. I’m going to make an educated guess and presume that the shield takes a lot of power to operate, especially for a continuous period of time. Sustained contact with the water, not to mention whatever rocks or other debris might fall, make the setup improbable for any other group.”

His fingers stroked his chin.

“They have to have a power facility of some sort. Still, if they’ve only got a limited amount to work with…how long is Osaxah overhead?”

She shrugged.

“There’s never been a determination of the speed of the continent, so I couldn’t say. Could be days, could be weeks.”

He chewed on the inside of his lip.

“Moderate guess – a week of continual operation. That’s a lot of energy that could be better used elsewhere.”

“Here’s to hoping it normally is.”

A green glow caught their eye, spreading out from the cylinder below and blooming into view, a snowflake of emergency lighting inspired from the glowing mosses native to the seafloor, fed with the minimum trickle of power. The facility was, on the top of the sand at least, sprawling. Shadows of clear cells held ghostly shades of individuals, some further off providing a light all their own. The central dome below was framed at its edges with the glowing ‘moss’, rising to meet them as they fell through the lone hole in its surface.  The dim green again fell to black, reappearing around the edges of the reception hall. Great glass walls ringed it, offering a view of the opaque tunnels spider webbing along the seafloor, the prisoners placed like flies between its strands. The rat squeaked, drawing their attention to the stairway at the far side of the room, an arch carved into the stone face that erupted from the silt. It was cracked and filled in places, as though the stone had broken under unknowable pressure, long ago buried with the collected muck of ages. A glow flickered from below, crackling with laughter and noise. The rat padded along in the other direction, hopping onto the administrative desk and nudging things about.

The two planeswalkers walked quietly over, joining the rat as they scanned for something of use. A small card of synthetic material, notched at one end, called to Razel’s fingers. He snatched it, tucking it within his sleeve. The rat seemed to take note of this, squeaking and scampering off again into the darkness. Its glowing eyes reappeared at a turn in the passage.

_Squeak!_

They shared a look between them, the Madam shrugging in reply. They snuck through the tunnel, the one-way transparency of this wing’s doors affording them a look at the criminals kept within. Restraints, where necessary, were built to the specification of the individual restrained. The objects all were logical to the rime mage, who seemed to understand the style intimately. He looked in wonder at the numerous designs about him, while Ophelia ignored them all and kept after the rat.

Food doors marked the cells on this block, the opaque doors showing what they considered ‘low risk’ prisoners a privilege of privacy and eating their own meals. The rat bounded to a cell, pawing at the sliding panel and squeaking urgently. Rime mage and Madam kneeled in front of the door, sliding it back and watching the rodent burrow into the cell before they could finish.

“Price!?” a phlegmy voice spat out.

_Squeak!_

“Visitors? I thought I smelled a fox and a wight…or is it food? The long night usually brings a long fast.”

A quiet chittering, almost a laugh, then a cough and a wheeze. He next spoke to the space outside his door.

“What do you want?”

Razel looked over the door, noting no name – only a number. He responded quietly.

“I am here to speak to Impulse of Thought. Do you know where he is kept?”

Chittering again, quieter and subtler this time. The prisoner moved towards the door, placing a paw thick with mildew in front of the food gate to support himself as he leaned against it. His voice grew quiet.

“A voice, clearly not vulpine or dead. My nose is failing me. However did you get down here, my saboteur friends?”

Ophelia spoke up, her voice quiet but firm.

“We are not saboteurs. We need to speak to Impulse of Thought.”

Razel looked at her dully, his apathetic gaze masking annoyance.

“What my lady meant to say is that we will take you with us if you can prove your worth. We are not here to liberate the scum of the multiverse, but we are not unkind.”

The rat inside squeaked loudly, an answer from the prisoner irritated and short.

“Who asked you, Price? Alright, I can help you. I talk to the rats, as you doubtlessly noticed. There aren’t many, but they’ve grown cunning in the years they spend down here. I know, more or less, how this place is laid out. I don’t know anyone who goes by ‘Impulse’, but I heard the Weird referred to as ‘Thought’ once.”

Eyes met and smiles bared teeth. Razel spoke up.

“That would be him.”

“He’s in their lowest level, in the godcells.”

“Godcells?”

“I’ll explain if you open my door.”

Metal squealed as Razel slammed the food door, standing.

“Well? Should we let him out?”

“We didn’t even ask what he was in for.”

“Don’t have to. Anyone here did something grievous enough that, really, letting anybody out is probably a bad idea.”

“Yet he claims to know the floors.”

“He speaks to rats.”

“That doesn’t work in his favor.”

“Why not? I speak to skeletons.”

She started to reply, but instead faced the door. A panel to the left had a small slit in it, while the door itself held no hinges. A nock in the ceiling for the handle of the food door told them where it went clear enough. Razel pulled the card from his sleeve, placing it within the panel. Ophelia elevated an eyebrow, impressed.

“How’d you know to use that?”

He flashed his smile back.

“The Academy used to use keys like this in some of their labs. I haven’t seen this technology for a while.”

The door hissed, sliding into the ceiling and startling the rat folk who had been leaning on it.  His fur was matted and grimy, his clothing offensive, and his breath obscene. Yet when he drew himself from his haunches, he moved with the grace of a regal attendant. He bowed deeply, raising his eyes and looking past his snout.

“You have my eternal thanks. I am Chittertrix, Nezumi Gentleman.”


	17. Making Friends

Razel grinned wickedly.

“Mummy, can we keep him?”

Ophelia scoffed at him.

“Gentleman? What gentleman wears a suit of fungus?”

Trix’s eyes narrowed at the woman.

“What woman sneaks into a prison dressed like a highwayman?”

She narrowed her eyes back. Razel looked between them quickly.

“Alright, so I kept my word. Take me to and tell me about these ‘godcells’.”

Nezumi eyes kept an unbroken stare as he stepped past her, craning his head to follow as he walked along. He turned and whispered to Razel, leaning forward to creep on all fours.

“The Godcells are the reason this prison is here. My furry friends refer to it as the stone cheese. Bubbles, countless bubbles, a frozen froth within the rock. Whatever the cells are, they also project the field that stops you from ‘walking.”

Razel cast his eyes towards the rat.

“So you’re a planeswalker?”

“Many of the prisoners here are. The most dangerous or valuable are kept in the Godcells.”

“How do you keep a man in a series of hollows?”

Chittertrix smiled a toothy rodent grin.

“The Administration of this fine facility found the ability to manipulate the bubbles, and once they discovered that they could make a field, stronger than nature itself, where the bubbles would meet, they crafted halls and cells, expanding or contracting them as the prisoners came to require.”

Ophelia shared a worried look with the rime mage, offering her piece.

“So where does the Weird reside?”

Chittertrix chuckled, casting gobs of phlegm before him.

“He’s special. I’ve heard mention from the guards walking past of their Commandant visiting specifically to gloat to his trophy. Still not clear on what he did, but whatever it was, he earned himself a place between.”

“Between?”

“Between the cells. They placed him in a void they carved just for him, and then brought cells against his edges until he was rendered immobile. Six cells hold him close. He’s spoken of as their ‘pillar of triumph’. Only around the Commandant, naturally.”

The row came to an end, a stairwell across the room flickering with light from below. The sounds of life echoed up to the reception. Their Nezumi guide crouched while he explained.

“The cells are directly below us. To get there, we have to descend this stair, follow the wall on the lower reception to the maintenance lift, climb the access shaft to the level below, and then take the main steps.”

Razel turned to face the noise from below.

“What about the guards?”

“They have grown lazy with the efficacy of this place. The long night comes, they dim all the lights, and ignore us for a week. No patrols, limited feeding. Their barracks are the floor under our feet, with the secure processing below that. If we can stay in the foyer, we should avoid most if not all of them. The proper stair to the level below is at the far end of their mess hall, but the service lift is by the entry. We can’t use the lift, as it would cause too much noise, but it will let us through regardless.”

Silence held them for a moment until the madam broke it.

“Are we certain there are no guards on the processing level?”

On cue, Price Squeakers scurried up the steps, pattering over to them even though they could not remember him leaving.

_Squeak!_

“Yes.”

Ophelia flushed.

“Well. Then. Shall we?”

Their padded feet slunk silently along the floor, traversing the spiral steps and regrouping behind a large planter along the wall. The plants gave the room an odd feel, promoting the tone of a dentist’s before a barracks. Several doors led in several directions, many cracked and all of them loud. A guard slammed one open loudly, plodding drunkenly into another and slamming it shut behind him.  At the far side of the short hall, flanked by the doors in question, was the lift. A large gearbox served as a half-height wall between the crawlspace and the hall beyond. They lingered a moment, holding for fear of the guard’s imminent return. At the sound of his struggling grunts, they decided he would remain occupied for a while.

Silence again held them close while they darted across the room, clinging to walls and climbing into the lift. The fall wasn’t far. Chittertrix led them, bearing his weight between the gearbox and the wall as he shimmied to the next floor. Ophelia floated gently down, while Razel merely dropped, landing deftly on his toes.  Shadowed in the darkness of the floor below, they crept from the bright light following them out of the access shaft. Where above there was a trail up, below the stairs led down.  Deeper and deeper they went, the walls striped with layers of ancient sediment. The light below was complete and without source. They breached the cells into a great honeycomb of hollows, empty spheres all around the obviously distorted path. Distant individuals milled about their bubbles, paying no mind to them. Ophelia gingerly set a foot on the open space where they were told the fields would be, finding solid footing where none could be seen. Chittertrix strode out boldly, no doubt within his mind. The transparency was misleading, while the shifting spires of rock between them looked to move in myriad ways as they passed.

Straightaway they saw his pillar. The four rooms around him were noted by the stone ringing them, while his was a conspicuous composite of the edges pressed tight to the Weird within. His ‘flesh’, such as it was, offered hints of the furious energies confined inside, milk-white and thin. His body, bare to the realm, had no indication of sex, nor the need for it. Chest seamlessly flowed into lap into uninterrupted thigh. His eyes flickered open as they came to him. A flash of something, either fury or elation, soiled his face as it contorted before he regained his calm and spoke.

“Why hello there.”

His voice was musical, a lilting dirge of rushed anxiety and premeditated melody. He was an idealized humanoid, a living statue composed not of stone or flesh, but of diametric ideas forced into a single form. His hands were pressed together behind his back, but he seemed not to mind. Chittertrix placed a hand on Razel’s shoulder, his expression grim.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

Ophelia raised an eyebrow, smiling to the Nezumi.

“I agree.”

The Weird piped in.

“Me three!”

They all gazed to Impulse of Thought, confined in his column. Razel walked with royal air as he stepped up to his target.

“You are Impulse of Thought.”

“Very astute! Do my weight now.”

“Give me a metric.”

“You’re not here for cold readings. What can I do for you, Sir…?”

“I have a problem.”

“Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“I have a condition wherein I unwillingly begin to pool Mana. It does not stop until I have pooled enough that I ignite and detonate. I regain consciousness on a different plane and there is no connecting path. An entrance with no egress save the madness between worlds.”

“Why should I care?”

“You do. If this prison is as isolated as ‘trix makes it out to be, I am the first person to present you with a question who was not actively restraining you. Your name gives you away. I need only make you curious.”

Weird eyes drank in the rime mage’s image, seeing past the visible and into his aether. Impulse of Thought bared his teeth slowly in a cruel mockery of a smile. He knew the gesture, but he did not understand it wholly.

“Again, very astute. I will give you a hint if you give me your name.”

Ophelia made to interrupt, but Razel cut her off with his reply.

“Xaing.”

If she found it unusual, she hid her opinion well. Her lips pursed. The weird rolled the name around in his mouth like a sour candy.

“Xaing. Xaaaaaaaaing. Sh-ae-ngggggggg. Xaing.”

“My name, yes, and your hint?”

“Absorb anything recently?”

Razel blinked in confusion, running the extensive list through his head.

“It’s a staple of my style. That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“Tell me more and I’ll tell you more.”

“No. I’m not playing that game. Tell me or we leave, simple as that.”

Another fake smile.

“Then go.”

Razel turned and strode off, irritation plain on his face. Impulse prattled on as the trio turned to leave.

“You _intrigue_ me, Xaing. Intrigue. I want to tie you to the floor and disassemble you layer by layer before repurposing your choicest parts for myself. Ooh, a flinch, what, have a run-in with the machine priests?”

Razel jerked to a stop, spinning in place.

“I had hoped to offer you passage out with us in exchange for compliance, but thank you for making that choice for me.”

“Better this way regardless. I want to learn about you, Xaing. I want to dig inside you and see what makes you work. Is it my fault they are so frail that they die in the process?”

“Why would you even say that? Discount your own chance to escape?”

Impulse chuckled, a horrible throaty sound.

“I don’t need your help for that. I see no reason to lie to you. If you release me I will take you apart and read your genes.”

“Do I even have them?”

“So you truly aren’t aware of your physiology?”

“I’ll ignore that.”

“That’s a yes. Oh, delicious. So delicious.”

Razel’s eyes narrowed, his fingers extended yet no augur coming.

“The cells subdue magic. What, were you going to try and remove the knowledge by force? You’d have to let me out, and I’d kill you first.”

Razel threw himself against the column, pressing his nose to the field and seething at the edges.

“You don’t scare me.”

“Liar.”

“You infuriate me.”

“Fear angers.”

“I have looked evil in the face. I have tasted the black oil. You are a petulant mistake wrought from your creator’s shortcomings. I had thought a Weird of such renown, known for the terrible atrocities committed in the name of curiosity, might want to indulge that curiosity.”

Impulse pressed his face against the field, distorting it but speaking clear regardless.

“What curiosity? I know what plagues you. I see it, plain as day, while you are blinded by your own reflection. You will die, Xaing.”

“Not by your hand.”

“We shall see.”

Rime mage turned to Madam turned to Nezumi, all of them unsure of how to proceed. Impulse egged them on.

“You leave now, halfwits. That was the declaration, the dramatic moment. You ruin it by lingering.”

Wordlessly they strode off, ignoring him. He continued to repeat the name to himself, muttering as they left earshot.

“Xaing… _Xaing_. You intrigue me, Xaing. I will find you again. I will pull your halves from each other and discern the nature of your duality before implementing it within myself. Do not think this is over.”

The weird’s lips pursed as he whistled, a high note answered by a small reply.

_Squeak!_


	18. Dark Depths

“That was a fabulous waste of our time.”

Ophelia shook her head miserably.

“Not entirely. He told you it had to do with something you’d absorbed.”

“Probably the double, considering the timing. Still doesn’t make sense. I’ve done that several times before, to no ill effect. Is it a side effect of the oil? Am I tainted?”

Chittertrix piped in his confusion.

“What ‘oil’ are we talking about?”

“It’s a malevolent force of nature. Oil that corrupts completely and serves to rebuild its source over ages. It is patient, it is subtle, and it is absurdly effective. It mutates flesh into metallic monstrosities, and it could use a little salt.”

Trix chuckled again, his spit thinner than before. Ophelia found no amusement in the situation.

“So we at least have a soft confirmation of one of the catalysts’ vector. I’ll set my crew to look into it as soon as we can reach them.”

The ascent was uneventful. They began to question the ease of their flight, until the sound of Impulse’s voice echoed absurdly loudly off of the walls.

“I CERTAINLY HOPE THOSE DILLIGENT SECURITY OFFICERS DON’T NOTICE YOU THREE TRYING TO GET AWAY.”

The revelry cut short, replaced my subdued scrambling and shuffling on the floor above. The trio turned to face the stairwell coming from the mess hall, falling into a dash as they sped towards the lift. Loud clattering crashed into the room as they fled, a hundred armored agents rushing for the Weird. Three shadows leapt into the access shaft, ducking out of sight to observe the guards running towards the top of the tunnel.  Razel voiced his opinion.

“Damnable Weird. Should have expected betrayal.”

Chittertrix spoke up.

“Not important now. Our only chance is to rush the main lift and try to get it before they do.”

Ophelia added her thoughts while they shimmied upward.

“We can survive without breath, so once we get to the surface we should go overboard and swim to the bottom at an angle. Flee to the floor, leave the boundary of the lock, and go.”

Razel nodded, sticking his eyes around the corner and pulling back.

“I figured we’d have to do something along those lines. Woodhouse is waiting for us. Should have your knapsack, too.”

He dived onto the lift, over the waist-high railing and behind one of the planters. They joined him just in time to avoid a large team of individuals marching to the stairwell. Distant shouting barely reached their ears, drowned almost to nonexistence by the echoes of deployment. Momentary dulling of the noise ushered them to the stairs. Halfway into the darkness of Administration, they heard the Weird again, booming through the halls.

“THEY’RE ESCAPING, MEAT. TRY THE LOBBY.”

The trio shared a variety of curses among them, hurrying up the steps and forsaking stealth. The room was weakly lit by the moss, but a lamp had been placed behind the desk. It lit the Guard from below, casting his shadow onto the dome above. To their dismay, the lift was nowhere to be seen. Armor clanked as he took a step towards them, his voice commanding and firm.

“Going somewhere?”

Fingers inched along the clear walls, Razel’s eyes looking into the darkness outside worriedly. The lamp cast a swath of light into the muck, revealing a bandaged corpse lying in the sand. No bottom feeders fed on the bones. A devious smile met the rime mage’s lips, unsettling the captain slightly.

“Matter of fact we are. ‘Trix here could use a shave and a haircut.”

Unamused, the Guard drew a sword, several more piling into the room to trap them against the glass.

“Hold your breath.”

As the guards advanced, Razel rapped firmly on the wall behind him.

_Tap tap tap-tap tap…_

Nobody seemed to care, coming in closer and closer, until an answer came from behind the captain, outside the glass.

 _CRACK_. _KTCH-_

The glass shattered, crystalline edges and liquid force crushing them as it reached out to flood the facility. The guards were thrown bodily towards the trio, crashing towards the wall, some dying on the spot. Razel seized time before the debris could reach his companions, taking their wrists and pulling them with him through the temporally still flow as they began to wake between moments, sluggishly assisting his dragging them on. They forced their way against the spell, slowly crossing the judicious room and fighting the weight of the world to step through the incoming stream. With great effort, they climbed out of the room and into the frozen vise of the depths themselves.

Unbearable pressure deformed their bodies momentarily, rebuffed by their will and adjusted to compensate. The shift in focus returned the proper flow of time as liquid filled the superfluous tracts within their bodies, evening the forces and helping them to equalize. Security left within the facility met their varying fates as the torrent inundated their institution. The current pulled at the four escapees, trying vainly to throw them back into the facility. Woodhouse grabbed them as they chained hands, dragged by the strength of the bones to the other side of a domed hallway. The noise of the deluge was distorted and distant, but still overwhelming. They wasted no time in fleeing the location.

Currents buffeted them, yet their feet held steady while they pressed against the force. Behind them, the clear pillar of the lift was filling with water, a guard struggling against the glass in vain. The lights were flickering on and off, eventually darkening entirely. The light of the ‘moss’ faded to black as the prison receded into the distance, leaving them alone in their trek across the inky depths. Their vision serving no purpose, they relied instead on their astral signatures, still barren and alone. Razel projected his voice before him, making just enough noise to be heard.

“ _We need to follow this direction until we clear the field._ ”

Ophelia faltered with her motions for a moment, placing a hand to her chest as she expelled her speech.

“ _The direction is unimportant. We don’t know if there’s anything else down here, though._ ”

A slow, mournful song surrounded them, passing without reply. The silt squished thickly around their feet, but offered traction enough. The sounds, when they came, were faint and long. Hours of travel found them in surroundings indistinguishable from that which had come before. A sudden hill drew them further up, their bodies rippling as they adjusted to the lowering pressures. The slope leveled off much further on, while a shimmering wall of energy followed the almost imperceptible curve of the massive crater, reaching weakly to the surface far above. Out of caution, Razel motioned to the sediment, Chittertrix and Ophelia stepping back as the guard tunneled beneath the barrier. They followed him through the cloud of silt, emerging on the other side in slightly warmer waters.

The ridge around the crater ran wide enough that it had leveled into a plain of its own, descending slightly before giving up any semblance of normality and erupting in a terrain which still held structures from before the consumptive flood. The former settlement was long since abandoned and deteriorated, looted by time and whatever lived nearby. A stone hall, walls thick with a carpet of sea grass and mussel, served to hide them as they took a moment to regroup. This time it was Chittertrix that forced his words into the water.

“ _Now that we’re out of their field, what do we do?”_

Razel shook his head.

“ _The lock still holds us here. We must escape its influence. Besides, I fully expect them to pursue us._ ”

Ophelia joined them.

“ _Hence the ruins.”_

Another nod.

“ _Still, we mustn’t linger. Let’s keep going further inland. I should think we’re far enough away to swim instead of walk._ ”

The Nezumi agreed, looking out of the door.

“ _We should stay close to the seabed regardless. No telling what else could be patrolling the open waters._ ”

They all shook their head in agreement, leaving the hall one at a shot and forming a short caravan a few meters above the floor. The city was dissolved in places, but the structures that stood spoke testament to the builder’s command of material. A particular stone, shimmering with a golden hue in what little light was available, seemed oddly barren of any invasive species. The settlement had been established on a variable plateau, with small mountains dotting the disk and holding now ruined fortifications.  An ancient riverbed, its course made obvious by the pattern of the stone beneath, wound beside and away towards the crater, suggesting a former source further inland, following the same direction they were fleeing.

Taking the river as a guide, they kept along it, tracing a path between the sunken spires and out above a great lakebed, now black and seeping brine, a lake within an ocean. The thick liquid lapped at the former river, not quite high enough to cascade down its trail. On the far side of the feature, a bright light caught their eye. Yellow glowed brilliantly around the castle that had been erected, its coral architecture a far cry from the Euclidian aesthetics of the lost city. The quartet set foot upon the sands of the briny beach, approaching with caution. Chittertrix impulsively began scraping off what little grime remained on him, hoping he had not already betrayed them.

Sentries astride great sharks glided past, Merfolk cast in bony armor wielding great flat blades. They trailed their weapons behind them, acting as a second rudder. Silence kept the quartet on their approach, observing another several guards go by. Sentinels beside large crustaceans watched every door, letting several merfolk pass on sight. A window at the very base of the building was protected by twice the visible effort of the others, and inside they could make out a heated argument between a collection of very well-dressed individuals.

Nezumi paws dug into the silt, flattening out a section of floor and waiting for the dust to dissipate before he began drawing out a rough map of the layout. Razel smiled, not regretting his inclusion in the slightest. He extended his augur, using the frozen spike to note along with his cohort. ‘Trix spoke first.

“ _The guards used to debate raiding some merfolk settlement. Something about them having a wall around the prison. They hadn’t considered breaking in to be nearly as much of a worry. This is probably the ‘Dark Lake Outpost’ I heard mentioned. Seat of power or similar._ ”

The others nodded acknowledgement while Razel looked from the patrols to the ground, noting their routes with his icicle. He looked to the diagram long and hard before speaking.

“ _We have no reason to deal with them. There’s a hole in their coverage here, which will let us go minimally out of the way and remain undetected._ ”

Ophelia took the augur, including a few small outcroppings on the diagram.

“ _Alternatively, we could sneak into their ‘stables’ and commandeer a ride so that we can expedite our flight. Don’t forget that we’re being followed._ ”

Chittertrix shook his head.

“ _No, if we do that we run the risk of discovery, which will only slow us more._ ”

Woodhouse looked around, staring off in the distance. Razel’s voice sounded impatient.

“ _It’s a possibility, but at that we may as well hijack a shark and flee, since we’ll be walking as soon as we leave the field. Speed or Silence?”_

Woodhouse tugged gently on Razel’s sleeve, urging his attention. He paid no mind, looking to Ophelia, who seemed to disagree.

“ _Why choose? If we sneak into their stable we can get a start on them and maintain our start on the OEP._ ”

Woodhouse tugged more urgently, his hand brushed away as Razel bickered.

“ _Who’s to say they aren’t working together? What if they turn us over to them?”_

Frustrated, the house guard reached back and smacked Razel across the cheek, cavitation bubbles following his arm’s wake and collapsing with a loud CRACK. Fury seized him as Razel turned and hissed his answer, an odd feat underwater.

“ _WHAT?_ ”

Six eyes followed the bony finger, tracing the gaze to a host of armed merfolk approaching. The sharks shared their protections, layered in scale plates that gave them the presence of young dragons. Vivid and pearlescent in his armor, their leader made no secret of his position as he glowered down at them, circling the group at a distance and slowing as he came closer. The rest of his troupe dropped the tips of their blades, turning and brandishing in a single motion. Its voice rang clear through the deep, loud and onerous.

“I am Chief of security Moray, and you four are coming with me.”


	19. Something Fishy

“ _What did he say?_ ”

Razel hated being a translator, but he doubted they had time to learn the words of the spined fish folk. Instead he once more slumped into his role as a go-between.

“ _Just let me talk to him, alright?_ ”

Chief Moray eyed him warily, glassy stares coming from his crew as well.

“You speak our tongue like an eel breathes mud.”

Closing his eyes as the merfolk spoke, he tried in earnest to reply in kind.

“ _I am R_ az _el_ Korr. These _are_ my companions.”

Chittertrix was unamused and unenlightened.

“ _Why is he suddenly so clear?_ ”

Woodhouse shrugged. Chief Moray looked them over, his wide eyes shifting.

“You are over landers. Why are you here?”

Razel thought of the old men, now curious.

“We flee the field of dreamless sleep.”

Moray looked behind them, towards the _Arcona_ and the Godcells beneath.

“You come _from_ the wound?”

“ _Hey, he bubbled like we do! Progress?_ ”

“ _Shut up, rat._ ”

Razel furrowed his brow, looking back as well.

“Wound, you call it?”

“The scar in the world that made it cry the endless sea. Surrounded by our own sentries, guarding a field erected from the sand to the surface by our own mages-”

“And below the sand…?”

Chief of Security Moray flashed a scintillating array of colors, bubbling the merfolk equivalent of a ‘harrumph’.

“You are to come with us to the reflection pool, where our council will decide what to do with you.”

Déjà vu swam in his mouth, a coppery flavor of ill tiding.

“ _What wound?! Sand? Are you going to explain?_ ”

Razel rolled his eyes, excusing himself from the Chief. He spoke to Chittertrix impatiently.

“We’re to be taken to their council for judgment. Nobody ever expects people to go the opposite direction, it would seem.”

Ophelia spoke up before ‘trix could.

“ _Can we trust them?_ ”

He considered his reply cautiously.

“I see no reason not to.”

They followed the sharks as they swam large ovals, herding the captives in a column of water very clearly delineated by the great fish. The castle couldn’t be anything but, rising majestically out of the sea grass on the floor and spiraling to a fine point, a jet of current looking much like heat from a chimney as it trailed away.  A large hole in the middle of the wall bored deep into the colossal reef, winding into the centerpiece of the palace.

A large, oblate hollow lined with doorways and tunnels heading off in all directions, the center hall was the heart of the merfolk palace. A subtle current spun up the walls, spiraling through room after hall after room, up to the ceiling where it was expelled from the top. The quartet was led to the bottom of the chamber, face first into a gentle rush of flow and down to what they assumed was the cellar. The council hall was curved like a nautilus’ shell, the spiral table a miniature of the room itself. A field shimmered in the portholes, holding back a plane of sand and rebuffing the occasional shrimp. They could see clear across the brine seep, faint reflections of the ruins beyond fading to black. Three merfolk rested in their suspended chairs, another current running water past their gills as they sat. One, obviously their leader, wore a headpiece that amounted to little more than the jaws of a large angler pried open and adorned as a helm. He spoke to them through the bony needles as soon as they entered his sight.

“Yes, the Over landers! Alive, even. Astounding. How, I wonder?”

Woodhouse, the last one in, jumped slightly as the door coiled shut behind him. The three merfolk sitting council looked the Chief Moray and his four ‘guests’, demanding further explanation.

“We pulled them from the shore of the seep, milords. They claim to be fleeing the Wound.”

Mention of the crater brought a titter to the two advisors, each whispering in the opposite ear of their ruler. He waved them away and replied directly to Ophelia. His glassy eyes flicked between them, lingering on her as he spoke.

“How is it that you four yet live, hm? Countless bodies, images of you strewn across the stones, yet nothing but corpses. What were you doing in the Wound?”

He shimmered for only a moment as Razel spoke up, his exaggerated motions turning to the rime mage.

“There is a field projected by the Wound. We seek to be free of its influence.”

“This field is well known to us. We guard and protect the Wounds, so that none may bring forth new tears to consume our world, such as they might be. How did you get there in the first place?”

“ _What’s he saying about this Wound thing? Does he mean the prison?_ ”

Ophelia raised a finger to her lips irritably.

“ _Come to think of it, how do they know what he’s sayin-_ ”

Woodhouse slapped him upside the head, all eyes on the gurgling Nezumi. Razel did not look amused as he returned his attention to the fish men.

“We came from above. The Overland, I think you called it. We sought the source of the field, found it, and now we wish to be free of its influence so that we may leave.”

Fishy murmurs filled the room, the ruler waving off his advisors once again.

“How, exactly, are you going to leave?”

“Once we are out of the field, we will teleport.”

“You’ll do what now?”

“We’ll…disappear? Reappear elsewhere?”

“How?”

Razel did not like the tone they took.

“We have devices that allow us to return, but they’re good for one use only.”

On cue, Ophelia absentmindedly fiddled with the knapsack at her hip, just obvious enough to draw the leader’s eyes.

“We will escort you out of the field on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You are to assist us in slaying the Immendikon, whose lair is buried in the spires of the ridge that borders the field you describe.”

Chittertrix boredly looked out the windows, while Ophelia did her best to piece together the other half of the conversation. Razel responded for their benefit.

“If we help you slay this ‘Immendikon’, you will only need to lend us mounts enough to reach the edge, at which point if your beasts are well trained they shall return home without us.”

“ _Whoa, wait, slaying what?_ ”

His advisors did the same murmuring dance, waved away as before.

“We would rather ensure your safety the entire way. The way is dark and full of those that would consume you. It is not far from Immendikon’s lair. We have waited to strike, but your arrival is fortuitous and we are not about to let it go to waste. Take your companions and rest for a short while, we will make preparations and ride soon. Chief Moray, see them to a suitable chamber.”

Chittertrix gabbed the whole way back to the quarters, prying the full speech out of Razel and complaining loudly of being put to work.

“ _I just got out of prison, and already I’m being pressganged._ ”

Conversation, while difficult, was the only way to pass their time. The ruler, who never offered a name or title, was conspicuous and misleading – that much was plain even to the Nezumi. Ophelia expressed excitement at riding a shark, while Woodhouse tried to _clack_ and disappointed himself. Razel voiced his thoughts while he had the time. Short though it was, it served them well enough and offered a chance to scheme against the scheme they suspected. When Chief Moray returned, he wore a sharper livery than before, fluted channels carved from his plate.

“This way.”

His meaning was clear enough, taking them through the stiff flow of the lowest levels up towards a softer current that shoved them smoothly into the kennels. Sharks were lined against the flow, fresh water riding through their gills as they remained stationary, allowing the riders to strap on the grips and groom the beasts. Four moderate threshers swam a playful loop at the end of the row, gripped but not armored. Moray directed them to the sharks, which swam up to each of them in turn and nudged them firmly.

“They are fast, and they can do more than you’d think with that tail. You’re to keep a distance and barrage it with magic.”

“I don’t remember telling you we could do magic.”

Moray smiled, an abnormal sight full of pearlescent teeth.

“You didn’t. Hold tightly, steer them as you might yourself. I won’t go out of my way to save you.”

With that he was off, further into the kennels towards his own ornately decorated steed. Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

“ _So they want us to do what?_ ”

“Hold tightly, Steer them like you would yourself, and hold back to hit it with magic.”

Chittertrix stroked his muzzle.

“ _We didn’t mention magic._ ”

“You’re right. We didn’t. I’m not sure this is an improvement over the OEP.”

Concern aside, they mounted their threshers and followed the host out into the open waters. Over glow from the castle fell to darkness, leaving only the brilliance of Moray’s lamp at the lead to illuminate the terrain. Illuminate it did – Moray had suspended it underneath his ride, and looking directly at it threatened to blind you for a moment. It lit up the forest of kelp and reef, sea clowns and eels and a feral shark or two. The lock field began to tangibly soften, assuring the ‘walkers that they were heading in the right direction. The merfolk did not converse, solemn and dutiful as they trailed their paddle blades behind them.  The school of war swam for what felt like days, until the floor sloped down into another abyss, dotted with spires of stone stabbing through the black, their bases and peaks lost to sight. Like immense stone trunks the spires swallowed them, seaweed and barnacles wrapping them all in green and grey blankets.  Razel pressed his thresher forward, swooping up to settle beside the Chief of Security.

“So you didn’t tell us anything about this Immendikon. I’m assuming it’s a colossal beast, terror of the depths, that sort of thing?”

Moray kept his stare ahead.

“Immendikon is one of the last of the old titans. He ruled the waves of the world before. It is said that when the waters came to swallow the world, they first asked Immendikon for permission.”

“That makes no sense. Why ask the ruler of the ocean to-”

“He is not of the black depths, not anymore. He soars above, closer to the realm of air. We have fought him before. No matter how deep we cut or how much we stab, he is too large. Your magic will help us defeat him. It has been foreseen.”

Razel scowled. He hated prophecies, especially when he was involved.  Smiling weakly, he threshed back to the quartet, rejoining formation.

“Immendikon is precisely what we assumed. Apparently they have seers, and were told our magic would fell this colossus.”

Ophelia rolled her eyes.

“ _Awesome. We’re no more than poachers now._ ”

Chittertrix held the only concern in the group.

“ _So we’re really going to fight this giant whale thing? Why don’t we just kill the host and flee?_ ”

“Because that is obvious. If the OEP investigates at all, that will lead them directly to our place of egress, and by extension, our trail.”

Ophelia eyed him curiously.

“ _Do you assume everyone is as capable as the Academy? Some might call that paranoia._ ”

“No, I just assume that there’s the possibility. That’s preparation, not paranoia.”

A low wail shook the depths, echoing through them as it fell into a deep rumble.

The host picked up speed, darting into a rock formation covered in thin grooves. Large plates of stone broke through the silt, peeking to the riders above.  The water thinned as they crept towards the surface, now letting just enough light down to cast shadows from the school of merfolk. Looking around for the source of the call, it was Woodhouse who shot past and drew attention to the great eyelid below, blinking away the muck as it focused on the shapes darting past.


	20. Immendikon

“IMMENDIKON WAKES!”

Instantaneously the sharks split, peeling off in all directions as they closed on the beast’s flesh. The eye began to move, the head shifting thick carpets of sea grass while the monster righted itself. The merfolk swooped in, using the current he produced to careen across his surface, dropping the blades and drawing deep gashes through his thick hide. Lacerations opened in scores, strings of blubber seeping into the water. Immendikon thrust off, knocking most of the merfolk loose and dragging several in his wake.

The Four lingered behind as instructed, pulled along slowly by the great body fleeing. Immendikon had six fins along its side, with one long dorsal sail above and a mouth which looked to be capable of spitting the coral castle between his teeth. A face like a gator speared through the water, turning abruptly and crushing one of the warriors as he curled about himself, uncoiling and shooting towards Chief Moray. Immendikon did not roar – its fury shook the sea itself, the noise an afterthought.

Moray deftly avoided the great thing, ducking between teeth to build momentum as he shot out of the closing jaws. A drag of the blade between the teeth strung a ribbon of blood behind him.  Razel stretched out two fingers from his arm, pointing at the monster as he shot an inky shadow into one of the wounds.  He stood up straight as an arrow while the vitality funneled into him, yet afterward nothing showed for his efforts except a slight discoloring of the cut in question.  Razel frowned.

Immendikon reeled about again, unnervingly fast for a creature that large. The merfolk swarmed it like gnats on a bison, tracing their superficial slices trying to bleed out the very blood of the ocean. Small flecks of fat and skin started to cloud the area, swirling madly every time the eldritch one tore past. Ophelia, leading the Nezumi between a far pair of the stone trunks, tried in vain to barrage it with magic of her own, succeeding only in streams of superheated water and a pitiful attempt at a bolt that buried into the beast but slowed it not the least. Only Moray’s distracting armor seemed to draw his ire.

Woodhouse plunged towards Immendikon as it swam by, burying his knives into the flesh and carving away great swaths of meat. That got his attention, which ended in the monster rolling to fling Woodhouse with inertia on the next turn. His thresher swam over, retrieving the skeleton just in time to avoid the colossal maw sweeping between the pillars where he had been. Moray peeled away with the remainder of his retainer, collecting Woodhouse and regrouping in a hollow within a spire before Immendikon could about face. He glared at the Nezumi, but addressed Razel.

“I am going to keep leading him between the spires. I will try to run him past the opening here, so stay inside and hit him when he goes by.”

“And what about your knights?”

“We will keep harrying him until your magic breaks through. His hide is too thick – we could cut it to squares and he would simply find a cloud of blood to conceal his movements.”

Another cry shook the stone, the edges of the room clouding with dust.

“What if our magic is insufficient?”

Moray eyed him coldly.

“Then our seers will be wrong for the first time in eleven generations.”

Moray shot out of the pillar, zipping away on his shark at the sounding of the beast. His knights followed after the monster had appeared, ducking into his wake and carving into his flesh. Chittertrix raised an eyebrow at them as they went.

“ _Remind me why we aren’t just abandoning them_?”

“Not now. Do you have any spells we can use, or are you just going to complain?”

Chittertrix spat a gob of caustic black muck out of the doorway, spattering onto Immendikon and corroding a miniscule section of his flesh before it shot out of sight.

“ _I can keep spitting if you’d like, but more than that is bad for everyone, not just the thing._ ”

A thin mist of the phlegm etched the doorway, caustic even in minimal amounts. Any larger conglomerate would result only in a black death cloud that would certainly kill them, but uncertainly maim the colossus.  Ophelia streamed the superheated water as it swam by, blisters bubbling up in its wake yet no lasting damage done.

“This thing is indestructible, I swear.”

Razel stuck his head out to watch it turn, the maw sweeping nearly the entire width between the spires. Moray rocketed past, the jaws following relentlessly. Another bout of spells killed their urge to help, noting the ineffectual nature of their resistance. The tail was scarce out of sight when Moray swam back into the hole, gills flapping exhaustedly.

“He’s not slowing.”

“I tried to tell you.”

“You’re using the wrong magic.”

Razel raised his brows in disbelief.

“Excuse me? Don’t tell me how to mage and I won’t tell you how to fish.”

Moray reached for his blade in ire, noting it was gone after he had grasped at the empty water. He shimmered and narrowed his eyes.

“Maybe you aren’t properly motivated.”

Before they could reply, Moray was off again, leading Immendikon on a different loop.

“ _What was his problem?_ ”

“Doesn’t think we’re trying hard enough.”

Ophelia feigned a blow to her pride.

“ _Didn’t he see my blaze? I’m amazed the heat works at all down here.”_

Immendikon lowed into the depths, more dust clouding around them.

“What did he mean by motivation, I wonder?”

The threshers began to get erratic in their circles, forcibly leaving the hollow without urging or provocation.

“ _Hey, wait-_ ”

Chittertrix held tight and cut short as he spied the teeth ringing the distance, led by a scintillating Chief Moray directly towards the spire. Threshers beat a fierce retreat as jaws older than stone crushed the rock between them, tossing the bite away and pursuing without delay. Chittertrix’s paws slipped from his handles, the thresher darting away while Woodhouse grabbed the belt wound round his waist as they swam past. A deft manipulation of fingers tied the belt to his own, and his vice grip ensured they stayed mounted.

Another roar shook them, the great beast peeling down and returning to the shadowy embrace of the darkness. After a short while they slowed, coming to a stop and circling to regroup. None of the cavalry remained, and Moray was as displeased as a fish man could look.

“You failed us. You brought ruin to our guards. You stoked the rage of Immendikon.”

Razel was taken aback, his response arrogant and self-righteous.

“I’m sorry, who forced who to do what?”

The implication infuriated the merfolk, who swam up to lay a hand across his cheek. Razel caught his webbed hand before it met his face, sinking his own middle fingers into the soldier’s wrist. Fishy eyes went wide as his life began to decay and wither, sucked through the digits in his flesh. The Shark struggled free of its rider and slunk off, while Moray could only gape.

“Why not…do this…Immendikon…”

“I did. You are not an eldritch force of nature. Immendikon is.”

Moray looked to the other three, none of which seemed phased by this in the slightest. As he withered up into a husk of his former self, Razel pulled free his fingers, watching the corpse drift towards the bottom gently.

“ _Why didn’t we do this sooner?_ ”

“Reasonable doubt.”

A chorus of shrugs lined the group. They took a moment to make a large circle, determining the direction of the field border through the waxing and waning of its oppressive presence. The spires were still echoing with the rush of the skirmish, yet otherwise it was oppressively quiet. Immendikon rumbled in the deep, his location unknowable yet his voice all encompassing. Chittertrix looked around worriedly.

“ _I don’t like this. He’s still out here somewhere._ ”

Ophelia sounded less comfortable than the Nezumi.

“ _’trix is right. We shouldn’t linger any longer than we need to._ ”

Razel urged his thresher faster, leading them through the forest of stone and seaweed. Another of Immendikon’s rumblings shook the stone around them. Woodhouse scanned the thick tangle of grasses, elbowing Chittertrix sharply as he pulled his thresher straight up. Ophelia looked towards the indicated place, pulling up as she cried out with all her volume.

“ _RAZEL! BENEATH YOU!_ ”

In retrospect, the lead of the formation had been a poor choice of placement. He shot over the opening, looking down in time to see the jaws rising above and around him. Furious gurgles roiled from Ophelia’s lips, while woodhouse had forcibly restrained her meters from the careening mass of ageless fish. The lacerations from before no longer leaked, only a roughening of his skin now. The six fins fled by, winding around the columns as Immendikon turned for another approach. The Madam’s face squished in anger as she held out her arms. Bubbles erupted with a cloud of boiling water, encasing her hands in superheated liquid. Its great cry rang out once more, sounding slightly off. Staring down the gullet of the thing, she thought she saw a glimmer of blue.  Jaws snapped shut and ducked beneath her, prompting Chittertrix to speak.

“ _We need to flee! We can’t take it on our own!_ ”

Ophelia shook her head as her features softened. The bubbles subsided, and her face fell to a look of concern and fear, the anguish relieved yet not removed. Perhaps that faint glow she had spied in its throat…

“ _No. We will go when I decide we go. You’re welcome to leave on your own, but I think we’ll be alright.”_

‘Trix made to undo his belt, paws stopped short by the bony grip of Razel’s house guard. Woodhouse shook his head ‘no’, and turned to face the monstrosity. He had spied the light as well.  Chittertrix grumbled to himself, convinced his own end was near.

Immendikon spun around for a final time, the features on its massive face creasing with wrinkles that would serve as hills on any respectable landscape. Its lowing was still absurdly loud, yet where before it carried the soul of the waves, now it burbled and shrieked to the sound of liquefied larynx. His great jaws opened again, the glow as obvious as the attempt to quench its unnatural fire. An exaggerated gulping motion drew them towards the approaching creature, whose prior enmity seemed lost in whatever misery it felt. They held their threshers close while they ducked between two spires to let it pass, a brilliant blue glow lighting the throat of the thing from inside. Immendikon was speeding out of the field, and Ophelia seized the chance to ride his wake and come along.

The explosion, like those before, came slowly and steadily. Azure fingers of light tore through seams in the hide, bubbling with vivid blue plasma while searing away the skin and support. His immense tail fell limp, the momentum carrying him forward yet dropping as his buoyancy failed him. The blue bubble consumed all of the flesh if found, collapsing after a few minutes and clapping loudly. Immendikon’s partial corpse sank weightily towards the abyss, soon an environment for untold scavengers. Ophelia led the three survivors away from the spires and out past the field, noting a shift in the currents and a spike in the temperature as they crossed the threshold hours later. Chittertrix remained quiet the rest of the way, not even speaking up when Ophelia took him and Woodhouse by the shoulders and pressed them between spaces.

They emerged on the field of snow beside Razel’s retreat, the rime mage already having returned. His hair was unkempt, but other than the circles beneath his eyes he looked no worse for wear. Ophelia and Chittertrix purged the seawater immediately, the puddle sliding off the edge and into the nothing below. Razel sat calmly before the dais of his shrine, rising to his feet and wandering calmly over to his guests. Ophelia wiped her lips, smiling at the sight of her friend alive. ‘Trix was confused, and made it evident, his voice unsure.

“So are you dead or not?”

Razel shrugged, the few hours he had to himself obviously having worked wonders for his vitality.

“Sometimes I think dying is the best way to escape death.”


	21. Report - The ARCONA Incident | The Eruption Anomaly

_Administrative Report_

_Re: The ARCONA incident | The Eruption Anomaly_

_Filed by Tessellate Clerical Function BA42_

_Metric Year 654-067-136_

_Overview:_

_On roughly MY 654-067-122 a traveler we presume to be the Eruption Anomaly [the planeswalker on IPL1138 during the Eruption on MY 654-067-120, referred to hereafter as such per Karl Superior’s ordinance] arrived on Osaxah. He blended in with the populace, excepting a sighting of him in flight which inspired our standard presence to investigate. The agent on hand did not engage the Anomaly; however, he did report two individuals of abnormally young features leaping from the cliff with the local cultists. At that point he infiltrated the ARCONA facility and flooded it, neutralizing several of the security measures and causing extensive damages, as well as releasing several prisoners. Our brethren within the OEP were slow to respond, but after a limited pursuit they came across a leviathan’s whale fall, missing a large portion of its head._

_Background:_

_On MY 654-067-123 our agent assigned to the Osaxah Lock Anomaly reported seeing a male in flight above the canopy of trees, inspiring him to investigate further. On MY 654-067-124 he observed the annual leaping from the edge, noting a pair of lovers who were unusually young for the event. His further inquiry within the village as well as the resulting report directly from the ARCONA survivors led to an immediate dispatch of one of our investigators to aid the agent in question._

_Incident:_

_On roughly MY 654-067-122 the Eruption Anomaly as well as an unidentified companion arrived on Osaxah. They remained undetected before our agent saw the Anomaly flying above the trees On MY 654-067-124, at which point they were sighted on the cliff the next morning. The two proceeded to leap from the continent, locate and infiltrate the ARCONA, flood the facility, and then flee through the abyssal plain below, avoiding the local merfolk. Shortly thereafter the Planeswalker was consumed by the leviathan, which was killed upon the planeswalker’s eruption._

_Conclusions:_

_This incident confirms that the Eruption Anomaly is not working alone. Currently we are aware only of the female accomplice, although reports vary on their relationship with one of the elder cultists. The sighting of the Anomaly in flight as well as the nature of the location makes it obvious that he was intending to locate the ARCONA. That fact alone speaks volumes. The Anomaly has access to a network of information that is aware of the ARCONA’s existence and location. The report from our counterpart within the OEP contains further details regarding their investigation as well, although the few survivors of the initial breach did not get a decent look at the infiltrators before being crushed by the weight of the sea._

_Our agent assisted personally with the pursuit, tracking what they could and locating the leviathan’s corpse. They managed to avoid the merfolk as the Anomaly must have. He recognized the wound on the beast immediately, thanks in no small part to the briefings we rolled out per my previous suggestion. The severity was limited due to the oceanic pressure, however if our calculations are accurate it was a severe step up in intensity from the previous events. The timing is much closer, and the chronic status is undeniable._

_Somehow the Anomaly was capable of activating the main lift, which is supposed to refuse action to anyone who is not provided with the OEP’s variance on our own Hunter’s Aura. It is possible that he forced one of the guards to activate it for him, although we should re-trawl our database for anyone who previously may have been part of an organization making use of that particular Aura or its derivatives._

_Karl Superior has no doubt kept you briefed on his progress thus far. The ‘Spark tracker’ device he provided offered the same readout from the leviathan’s skull as it did on IPL1138, which I have been assured is as positive a match as we will acquire short of a confession.  There is no progress on a potential cure; however given the obscenely criminal nature of this event it is doubtful that we will offer him a place within our ranks. There can be no pardoning the release of criminals such as Red Kendal, Impulse of Thought, or Beif, accidental or otherwise. However, the Anomaly’s companions should be offered a place within our organization, if only to allow us a chance to discern the nature of their intelligence network. The Anomaly himself is to be terminated at the earliest possibility; still, the female may prove useful._

_In conclusion, we are elevating this case once again to ensure it receives the proper personal attention. We will be including a description of the Anomaly as well as the known companion in our next Brach-Wide bulletin, and with any luck we will find him before he finds what he is looking for, whatever that may be._


	22. Interlude

Varying degrees of confusion seemed to be Chittertrix’s only response. Woodhouse disappeared at once, the front door scarcely open enough before the guard sped through. The ‘walkers took a more leisurely pace, seating themselves on the fine chairs in the foyer. ‘Trix’s fur was much cleaner than before, the watery experience having dislodged the majority of the deposits. Even still, an aroma not unlike dead fish crept from his whiskers.

“Do you have a washroom, Razel?”

Woodhouse reappeared, garbed once more in his purple livery. An outstretched arm directed the Nezumi quietly through the east door, leaving Ophelia and Razel momentarily alone. He took advantage of the situation to speak in confidence.

“I think I’ve pieced together what’s going on, for all the good it does me.”

Her hair bounced as she sat up, looking to him excitedly.

“Do tell!”

“Impulse said it was absorption, and based on the timing it had to be my double. Something I forgot to mention the first time – the double ignited.”

Immaculate eyes blinked at him emptily.

“I’m sorry?”

“My duplicate. It ignited.”

Gears turned visibly in her head as she placed the pieces together.

“So…when you absorbed it…”

“A second spark, yes.”

Her blinking persisted, the blank now bubbling to understanding.

“You didn’t think to mention that before now? Regardless, this is good! We know what caused it!”

“Yes, but why does having a second spark initiate the Novus?”

Her raised finger drooped sadly as her answers failed to come.

“So we have more work to do.”

He nodded.

“Effectively. I know what happens, I know why…I just don’t know how. Should make this a little easier, if nothing else.”

She agreed.

“With a vector and symptoms, we can probably even split up and search the last three places independently, since we won’t need you physically there.”

Marble grinding against marble called their gaze to the western door, open and occupied by a startlingly well-dressed rodent. Lapels, perfectly pressed, cradled a neck cushioned by a lace cravat, while a nearly religious shawl draped from his shoulders. A cane, tall enough to aid with steps or blows, supported him with care. Wisps of autumn and pine crept into their noses, while Woodhouse stood to the side, displaying Chittertrix in a manner an assistant might highlight a magician’s sudden re-appearance.  Ophelia raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed. Her smile was genuine, reassuring the sincerity of her comment.

“They come a-runnin’ just as fast as they can.”

His response was flippant at best.

“I’ll assume that was a compliment, madam. Razel, I thank you – I am in your debt. If there is anything I can do to help you in your quest, please let me know.”

Razel motioned to the chair beside him.

“First, you can sit. As for helping me, you already have – although I certainly won’t turn down any further assistance.”

“That depends entirely on where you plan to go next.”

Ophelia took the opportunity to unfurl the documents she kept on her person, laying out the rough plan with obvious strikes through the places visited thus far. She pricked a wrist with her nail, dipping it in the blood and scratching out the segment devoted to _Arcona_.

“Well, conveniently there are three options remaining, excluding the Academy. The conference is soon, and the hospital is a neutral zone. Ren & Ran will be the most hostile.”

She handed the scroll to Razel, who skimmed it once more and handed it to Chittertrix, who in turn blinked at it and rolled it up.

“So we’re going separately then?”

Razel hid his face behind bridged fingers.

“Seems most prudent. Ophelia, you’re the most charismatic, so you should take the conference. You also have the lowest chance of being recognized. ‘Trix, you should inquire with the Medical center. Neutral zones don’t extradite, so as long as you behave yourself you’ll be safe.”

“Never did anything worth being arrested for anyway.”

“As I’m sure you guessed, this leaves Ren and Ran for me. I’ll handle it alone so we can cover all three options simultaneously.”

They nodded their approval with muted satisfaction, a sense of traction finally catching up to them. Woodhouse awkwardly stepped from one foot to the other, looking over the documents before him.

_Clack…clackety clatter?_

Razel shook his head firmly.

“I can’t leave the Retreat without steward for much longer. You know that, as well as I do. If we decide on another excursion, I may take you with us, but right now I need you here.”

His house guard drooped sadly, but raised no complaints. Ophelia patted his shoulder.

“Why not take him with you?”

“If I ignite and have to go back to retrieve him, what if I run across investigators? The choice becomes let Woodhouse stay behind to be interrogated or return for him and be caught, so I’ll step back to option zero and leave him here.”

Chittertrix fiddled with his cane.

“What is it I’m to be investigating?”

“Maladies caused by the receipt of a second spark.”

“Specifically…?”

“That explosion I was engulfed in while Immendikon tried to digest me? That. That is a side effect of getting a second spark, apparently.”

“Getting? You mean you haven’t always had two?”

Razel creased his brow in a familiar expression of confusion.

“Explain.”

“I saw you had two sparks when you freed me, I simply assumed that you were aware of your own body.”

“…excuse me?”

“Yeah! If you had asked, I’d have told you. Seems the sort of thing one would know about oneself. You really didn’t?”

“I…but, we…”

“I thought this explosion sickness was new, not the sparks. Well, I guess both of them are new.”

“Buh…Why…”

“Don’t you have a mirror? I know I saw one in the lavatory.”

Ophelia shook Razel gently by the shoulder.

“Hey, some ‘walkers can see these things, some can’t. We know now, that’s what matters.”

Razel’s gaze leveled out, shaking away the irritation.

“Regardless. Two sparks, forced to pool mana until I detonate explosively. Second spark is a recent addition. That’s what we have.”

Chittertrix adjusted his cravat precociously.

“Easy to remember.”

They spent several more hours debating the nature of their excursions, arguing for and against varying ideas, plots, and the like. Woodhouse slunk off early, resuming his duties with resignation. The sun trapped in the cage above roiled with magical fire, tendrils of light writhing under filigree steel. When they felt they had hashed out all they needed, the trio wasted no time parting ways. Chittertrix was off first, convinced there would be interminable lines and wanting to be rid of them already. Ophelia lingered, reshaping herself to look and move unlike she would elsewise. Shorter and slightly rounder, hair wiry and blazing red, Ophelia was unrecognizable as the vampiric Madam from before. She looked more a young pyromancer, someone to whom explosions of all sorts would seem intriguing.

_Clever girl._

He saw her off as well, turning from her scar to the summoning circle engraved beneath his frozen turf. The pattern hadn’t changed, and it would serve to allow his compatriots to find the retreat again. With a few moments to himself, Razel returned to the foyer, pausing in the chairs not at all and instead ascending to breach the door on the far side. A courtyard, lined by the towering wings of the manse, stared emptily into the mist-cloaked void above. An immense amethyst carved into an immaculate icosahedron held the center of the yard. He ignored it as well, stepping to the door across from him set into the center of the east wing. Hinges screamed for lubricant, but opened regardless into the miniscule square room. With the door closed behind him, it became impossible to discern one aperture from another. The room was twice as wide as he was tall, the doors recessed in the center of each of the four walls. He took the door to his left, focusing on the approach to the hive and turning the handle boldly. A rush of warm savannah air crested past while he strode out onto the vast plain.

Golden wild grass waved in a breeze, the lone doorway in the field looking exactly as out of place as it was. Ahead loomed a ziggurat, squat and wide yet tall and sharp. Worn grey stones held firm, not cracked in the least yet smoothed by the endless traversal of the inhabitants. The surface rippled in the distance, resolving into an image of untold numbers of the sinewy creatures swarming every available space. Their pointed heads turned to face him, watching but never intervening in his approach. A chittering filled the air, following through the front arch and into the resin coated tunnels. Each step further the air thickened, and every turn brought unexpected yet beneficial mutations upon the sentries slithering about. Activity intensified the deeper he dove, until the tunnels themselves looked as though they were alive and pulsing. Two massive praetorian guards were astride the entrance to the Queen’s chambers, their eyeless gaze tracking his every move. Even these imposing sentinels granted him passage, scarce acknowledging him save their unyielding stare.

Inside the royal chamber, hollows pockmarked the walls, each filled with her majesty’s boundless progeny. The Queen herself was tending a small clutch of newborns, nudging the glistening babies into place before looking to Razel as he approached. She screeched at him affectionately, earning a smile and a nod in reply. He walked past her and to the center of the room, where he had hidden the false surface. A trace of the pattern stole the tangibility of the floor, dropping him into his inner sanctum.

First to shift was gravity. The center of the floor in his spherical room held the same mosaic as the Queen’s chamber, except inverted. Scaffolds ran several circles along the inside, unsupported planes sectioning the room neatly. Each of the four floors had a gap in their center, leaving an oblate emptiness. Devices, objects, displays, endless varieties of collection filled the room almost to bursting. Only an obsessive organization made it look like anything but a haphazard storage warehouse. He leapt to the second floor up, slipping between two petrified enemies and towards a glass case holding an expanded display of an eel. Its flesh was untorn, sectioned cleanly with muscles flayed and aligned, the nerves unthreaded intact. The heart beat, the lungs pumped, the blood flowed, yet none of the open wounds leaked the least of their fluid. As if unaware of its own state, the eel writhed mindlessly within the curio. A plaque beneath it simply stated ‘Barrakian Eel’.

“When she reminisces about this quest…how will she see it, I wonder…?”

He slipped into memory, flickers of the two of them stomping through soggy marsh warming his soul. With a turn and a few more steps, he ascended to the top level, crossing through a row of gemstones to pocket a couple and caress a single dark flower before stopping at a large glass case containing a wall of devices from his days with the Academy. It held only what he could carry and whatever he had stolen from the hunters sent after him, yet it was sequestered away in the deepest part of his sanctum for a simple, base fear – that they may one day be tracked. To that end he had taken considerable precaution, yet his certainty of possibility only undermined any attempt at confidence.

Frozen fingers reached through the glass, grasping the lock he had carried the night he fled. The device still functioned, kept for sentiment as well as the possibility of needing it once again. Cold metal felt welcome in his hand. For a second he thought of his Honden up top, the memories of the cracked porcelain welling tears in his eyes. Fingers ran idly over the grid etched onto its surface, his mind aglow with visions of broken ceramic.

_If I had it, would it have kept her here?_

He withdrew his hand, waltzing off the edge of the scaffold and through the mosaic below, rolling deftly to his feet in the Queen’s chamber and earning another screech for his trouble. Razel started the hike back to the manse, his mind raw.


	23. Average Wait Time:

Chittertrix adjusted his cuffs irritably, the folks patiently waiting in front of him somehow not sharing his distaste for queues. Hours upon hours he had lingered in their aptly named ‘Waiting Room’, and he was finally going to be reaching one of their clerks…after the three people in front of him.

_I spent more years than I cared to keep track of waiting and now I willingly do it again. At least I’m dressed for it._

By the time he reached the receptionist, his whiskers had started to droop. She was cheery and smiling, but obviously faking it. He wondered for a moment if she might be artificial, but decided against asking when she spoke up.

“Welcome to the Interplanar Memorial Medical Center! What’s the nature of your malady?”

Clearing his throat, he replied.

“I am here on behalf of my friend. He could not come himself, however I would look for information in his stead.”

Her expression remained toothy, but she still lacked any care for what was being said.

“Research is common enough. You’ll want to go to the library level, through the lifts over yonder.”

Her arm was flesh atop, but gears and beams wound where shadows fell to render the skin translucent. He thanked her courteously before striding through the crowd and into a shorter line for the lifts themselves.

_So much waiting!_

Whiskers twitched as he smelled something familiar, but his memories failed him. He looked around casually, spying nothing which he could tie to the scent.

_May have been the plants, may have been a species. I’ve been in the hole a long time._

Lingering, it wafted tantalizingly in his nose, teasing a revelation but never giving in. It only served to kindle his irritation further. Some of the patrons had devices to pass the time, some books or scrolls, some quill and parchment. Chittertrix cursed his empty pockets and lack of foresight. He crowded into the lift with several others, grumbled his destination to the golem tending the instruments, then pressed himself into the corner closest the door and waited.

Multiple floors caught them in their ascent, stops both relieving and exacerbating the crowding in the lift. Each floor looked alike to him, the same beige walls with the same single stripe and the same echoing overhead announcements. The smell remained in the lobby, and now he found cloying chemicals and sickly death meeting him in the absence. When the golem announced the Library with its monotone drawl, he excused himself and pressed past the others, padding into the hall and taking a moment to sit on a nearby bench.

While beige, there were no stripes on this wall. Instead artwork, cheap and probably local, filled the hall with scenes of boats and shores and similar stereotypical ‘pleasant’ things.

_Run by wealthy humans. Naturally._

He rested his weight on the cane, standing again and entering the thick doors at the end of the hall. The Library was laid out like a colossal broom, with a single hall perpendicular to the approach for the lift and countless smaller halls walled by shelves chasing away from it on the opposite side. A desk, large and circular and staffed by more artificial assistants, loudly reminded the newcomers that it was their source for information with a bright sign that stated as much.

Naturally, this meant another line. He dutifully stood, shuffled, stood, shuffled, and stood some more. He was directed to a console which he was assured would function through verbal commands, and now that he looked he noted the lack of any sort of key panel on most of the machines. Taking the number handed to him, he found a quiet seat in the designated idle area and waited some more.

His number lit up over a console not far from him, a gnomish individual waddling out sadly. The booth was curtained off from the chest up, offering minimal privacy. Chittertrix clinked it into place and faced the smooth crystalline pane, light flickering as the image of a stylized face took the screen.

“Greetings, and welcome to the IMMC database assistant.”

“Thank you, I-”

“To begin, please state the general nature of your inquiry.”

Nezumi lips pursed as best they could.

“Planeswalker anatomy, Maladies caused by having multiple sparks.”

Flickering, the face blinked unneeded and continued.

“You have indicated _Planeswalker Anatomy_. If this is correct, please state ‘yes.’”

“Yes.”

“To be directed to the _Planeswalker Anatomy_ section of our archives, please state ‘Directions’. If you would like to specify further, please say ‘Specify’.”

Chittertrix’s eye twitched irritably as he humored the machine.

“Specify.”

“Please state the nature of-”

“Maladies caused by having multiple sparks.”

It clicked a few times, flickering again.

“We have a subsection devoted to _Multiple Sparks_. To be directed to the _Multiple Sparks_ subsection of our archives, please state ‘Directions’. If you would like to specify further, please say ‘Specify’.”

Already fed up with the machine, he gave in.

“Directions.”

A small glass bead tinkled into a receptacle by the screen, shimmering lustrously. ‘Trix picked it up, suddenly aware of a large golden arrow leading from his chest into the archives.

“Thank you for choosing the IMMC, and have a wonderful day.”

A final flicker and the face was gone, leaving the Nezumi to his golden path. He followed it out of the booth, a new number lighting up the board above it. His path led up three flights of spiraling stairs, slipping down a hall to the left of the info booth. Shelves on this level had been smoothed and lined with polyhedral crystals, each etched with motifs and styles representative of a large portion of the multiverse. He had seen their like before – inevitably, a society embeds knowledge within a crystal, and there were only so many geometric bases. Still, their decorations served to set them apart, maintaining their unique status amongst an army of like peers.

A bridge crossed to another stretching tower of knowledge, this one rung in the brilliant gold of the stone’s path.  More crystal stores, but also hide tomes and in one place a large slab of stone, cast from a relief of some ancient wall. He smiled to himself, stepping up to a scroll and rolling it out before his smile fled. Indecipherable characters covered the linen, and he cursed softly to himself as he rolled it back up.

_Stupid other peoples, with their stupid other languages…_

He tried several other items, all to the same end. Often he would spy some very…interesting…diagrams, however without their context it was as good as staring at a wall until you understood the building. After returning to the information booth for another wait session, he found himself with another pebble, this one sending a deep red path back to the lift and towards what they promised was a translation rental salon. Clerks at the counter gave it the appearance of a walk-in dining establishment, built for speed and convenience above all else.  Considering their potential volume of clientele, this didn’t surprise him.

What did surprise him was the return of the smell from before. A whiff of it caught his nostrils while he stood, now plainly emanating from the storeroom behind the counter. He perked his whiskers and watched intently, his memory spritzing images of Razel and the _Arcona_ facility into his vision. Two sections of lines queued from the clerks, one for a complimentary and temporary enchantment granting Omniversal speech, and another offering a permanent solution for some unspecified price. He had chosen the second for utility and curiosity. As his turn came to be seen, he swallowed thickly. The golem smiled the same empty smile as the others.

“The IMMC Offers Translational Enchantment for temporary use as a complimentary service. This line is for a permanent enchantment, which will require payment. Are you in the correct line?”

“Depends on your price. How much of what?”

“The IMMC decides payment on a case by case basis. Please hold.”

The golem remained still save for her eyes, which scanned him thoroughly.

“For your physiology, we would be willing to offer you our translation in exchange for your remains upon death.”

Chittertrix was uncertain, but it seemed an empty price from his end.

“How do you obtain these remains?”

“Upon your death the enchantment offering you translation will take what remains as it can and shunt them into our receipt bay.”

“Why my remains?”

“I am not informed of the reasoning behind the pricing, merely the price itself.”

He didn’t like it, but so long as there was nothing to pay while he was there...

“I accept.”

A rush of wind and a tingle in his throat and he was done. The red stone crumbled in his pocket, the path fading away to leave his golden trail winding back. Glad only to have to wait for the lift this time, he piled in and returned to the sea of information. A grin consumed his snout as he unfurled that same scroll, now seeing completely legible text explaining what the diagram of a scar represented. He looked through all the items at hand, from a golden puzzle box that tinkled as he moved it, whispering terrible secrets and truths, to the cast of the wall, showcasing a primitive yet surprisingly accurate description of a residual self image.

_So much knowledge…a man of curiosity could lose himself for aeons in a place like this._

The answer came by way of a short metallic cylinder, etched on all surfaces and set gently over a steel spool which traced the deformation of its surface, relaying the encoded information via a shifting display of enchanted ink and parchment.  A whole chapter was dedicated to specific multi-sparked individuals, although only a brief subheading mentioned the possibility of obtaining a second spark in addition to one’s own. Most of the authors had seemed convinced of the futility of the gesture, citing that as the Spark more or less enabled the user to planeswalk, it would be redundant to grant them a second instance of the ability. Chittertrix wasn’t convinced, and neither was this author. The ink shifted to the next ‘page’, bearing out his suspicion as it explained for the first time risks associated with introducing what amounted to a second soul.

“Irritability…mood swings…detonation?”

He highlighted the phrase, intending to trace it back to the glossary later and hoping for further information. He continued through the symptoms, breaking into a dialogue which compared a planeswalker’s spark to a solar analog, touching lightly on what seemed to be _exactly_ what he wanted. He read it aloud to commit it to memory.

“Theoretically, if a second spark of different enough age were forced into an established system, the additional variables could result in a cataclysmic interaction between them, manifesting physically as a projected shadow of the power condensing to the point of ignition within said system. This is due to the younger, ‘fluffier’ spark being syphoned by the older, ‘denser’ spark, and if left untreated can result in complete obliteration of the entire system as well as the individual.”

The diagram showed two balls of light dancing around each other, the larger leaving a trail of blazing mana that fell to the other with the viscosity of magma. Given a moment, the power pooled and pooled until it grew brighter and brighter and then it went, throwing a shell of death against the interloping spark and stripping a majority of its energetic outer layers. ’ _Not to Scale’_ , warned the subtitle. Chittertrix stepped back from the device, leaning against the railing and staring at the animation as it looped in an endless cycle of birth, transfer, and death. He remembered how the blue power has bubbled out of the leviathan’s wounds, expanding against the endless ocean as if it were no more than air. His chuckle returned to him, leaving a small drop of phlegm on his chin which he wiped away blithely. He hoped he wasn’t the first to complete his assignment, since he’d done enough waiting for one day.

“I wonder what it means by ‘untreated’...”


	24. Meatwitch

Toads belched out their creaking song in the dim twilight cascading through the blackened mangroves.  The water was still and stagnant and covered in occasional blankets of growth, rippling as his small canoe displaced the flow on its way. Razel stood in the center of the boat, resting one leg on the bench for balance as he pressed himself and the craft along with his mind. A firefly bobbed along in front of him, bright within the harsh shadow he cast. The sun sank behind him quickly, leaving the darkness to be broken only by luminescent bugs. A faint glow much farther on seemed to be his goal, yet he still felt the need for further illumination. A will-o-the-wisp drifted calmly by, sparking inspiration.

“I wonder…”

He remembered chasing his double, and specifically, the Inquisitor’s solution to darkness. Compressing power to the point of ignition for the sake of a quick torch was clever, and oddly similar to his current predicament. Razel considered for a moment the flames of his Novus, and he decided to give his idea a try. Hands rose to hang in front of him, apart yet aligned, and within moments the point precisely between them began to glow, igniting a small pocket of gas and flaring to a half-life of its own. Flickering with a faintly violet flame, the wisp bobbed up and down, and then began to loop around him in a slow orbit. The light it gave off as it circled cast shifting shadows. A slight dizzying effect drove Razel to reach out once more, urging the Wisp forward. It gladly and mindlessly obliged.

“Convenient. I’ll need to remember this.”

He pressed his capability, reaching out to it mentally and flexing it as if it were a muscle. The brightness rose and fell with a matching heat as it pulsed. A quick clasping of the fingers shut it out entirely, shadowing the boat, yet as he opened his hand the light once more ignited. Razel looked around to make sure there were no immediate threats to his person, discounting the local fauna out of hand while maneuvering around a large gator. He smiled broadly as he flickered the Wisp, blinking it on and off and bright and dim and off and bright with relish. With the distant glow not as distant as before, he focused again on his goal and laid the Wisp to rest slightly above and behind to halo him as he approached.

He noted with amusement the crude warnings that started to emerge from the swamp. Bones, remains, dolls, all manner of symbology had been utilized to make it very clear that visitors were not welcome.  The glow came from the series of torches the witches had erected, posted in the middle of the water in a ring that stretched out for acres in each direction. Haphazard flames found paths for him once he was in their midst, serving only to reassure him that ‘in’ was the correct direction.

Their abode had been built around a particularly thick mangrove, now only evident in the gaping wound its absence left on the canopy. Stilts held up the parts of the floor that ran out from the stump, resulting in a roughly-built natural approximation of a Manor, complete with trunks in place of columns. Toads croaked on eternally to their own voices. A lack of noise could be a boon or a curse. With the knowledge that to flee was to accept defeat, he swallowed what reservations remained and tapped the canoe against their dock, coming to rest beside a large raft with a raised prow.

The clunk of wood on wood went unnoticed, though his Wisp called slightly more attention. As he stepped out of the boat and onto their level, he first heard their voices.

“Ooh, ooh, see the light! He’s here already!”

“Damn, damn! I’m not done with the meal yet! Fetch him!”

His eyes went wide at the words. Razel considered leaving for a moment, but reminded himself the option was always available. Beads rattled against each other loudly when shoved aside by the first of the witches. A coating of grime hid what was certainly great beauty, yet in the murk she only looked good by comparison.  Obviously a previously feral child, she carried herself in an animalistic manner, yet her outfit was the same approximation of class as their abode. Her visible shins were hashed with tracts of scarring, all well-healed. She lit up at the sight of him, squealing and padding over to take him by the arm.

“EEEEEEEEEEE! We’ve been waiting for you for weeks now! I’m so glad you came.”

Taking another level in confusion, he pursed his lips and kept quiet, not that she noticed.

“Oooh, we’re VERY excited for you, yes…You came through the visions so clearly…”

She led him quickly, clinging like a lover long lost. Amber beads clattered against them as they passed, a shoddy staircase curling away to the immediate left. Quiet whimpers snuck down the stairs, but the witch paid it no mind. Through the front and into the kitchen she led him. Shelves were overstuffed to the point of multiple bundles being hung from the wall, their contents questionable if not outright objectionable.  A stove blazed in the corner, while the island in the center of the room was cluttered with a great cauldron and multitudes of components. Body parts in various states of assembly hung as one might hang a cut of meat. The other witch was bent over a mixing bowl, kneading foul smelling dough. At the sound of the two she looked up, her wild curled hair bouncing as she lit up like her twin. Her features were cleaner, and made no attempt to hide her comely looks. They were certainly of like stock, a more than passing resemblance obvious to those who looked for it, yet they shared no physical kin. A chain of some leathery strips was wound about her shoulders, hanging limply. Spiral seams and scars wound the links.

“Oooooh, there you are! In the _flesh_.”

She licked her lips lusciously, lingering on the word before continuing.

“Let’s bring him to the living room.”

Ren brushed the grey powder off of her hands and walked around the island to take his other arm, the twins taking him into a comfortable, if mildewed, reclining area. Cushions of several sizes and colors piled against the walls, with a smaller table in the center of the room, supporting the open lantern. Ren was much more composed than her twin, carrying herself with the grace they tried dearly to emulate.  They led him to the spot right in front of the lantern, their fingers lingering as he stepped around to a cushion, taking a seat across the table. Ren unwound the chain, tossing it playfully around Ran and tugging her close. A squeal of surprise dissolved into giggles from the two. Leaning back and letting the Wisp loop around the lantern, he ventured to speak.

“I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

Ren and Ran simply stared at him curiously, giving a feeling of peering beyond his physical form. Ran cocked her head and replied while she ran her fingers through the gap in a few of the links, slinking towards Ren.

“We’ll tell you if you help us.”

Razel’s face soured. He noted the difficulty they seemed to have keeping their eyes off of each other.

“That seems an awful common angle recently.”

Ren spoke up, reaching over to brush the hair out of her twin’s face with a silken smile.

“Don’t get offended, Dualist. We are in a similar, if opposite, predicament.”

“What did you call me?”

Ran piped in, tugging the chain playfully.

“Dualist! Don’t make us explain.”

Ren nudged her with an elbow.

“Courtesy, my dear. Please forgive her, we were not always together. She still displays facets of her…wilder self. We had not always bound ourselves as one.”

He eyed them warily. Ran’s wandering hand seemed to disappear under the table uncomfortably close to her twin.

“Alright. So before we get to me helping with your predicament, how did you know I would be here?”

They responded in time, completing the other’s thoughts. Ren began.

“When we were children, we knew we weren’t whole.”

“We felt there was another, a second half.”

“Lucky for us, we found each other.”

They gave in, facing each other with adoration in their eyes.

“We knew we were one.”

“So we forged a chain of our flesh to keep us together.”

“It healed and merged and showed us the truth of our beliefs.”

“That sparked us.”

“We can only walk together, and as we have learned, it is from sharing our very essence.”

“And we did _so much learning_.”

They licked their lips longingly at the recollection.

“We find that we are two halves of a whole.”

“Two that are One.”

Their gaze broke simultaneously as they turned to him.

“Whereas you are One that is Two.”

“A crowded soul.”

“We tried to rejoin.”

“So many attempts of so many different rituals.”

“We nearly gave up many times, if not for our readings.”

“We saw you in our bones, cast in mirror of each other.”

“We heard you in our flames, wild and ablaze.”

“We saw you help us become as we should be.”

“We saw you die.”

Their tone of familiarity was uncomfortable. Ren and Ran looked at him with a hunger in their eyes, not entirely unlike the kind he knew from the bordello, but with much less pleasant implications. He thanked his lack of telepathy.

“That’s…nice? What are you thinking I can do?”

Ren giggled.

“We can help you too.”

“Take you apart, find out how you work…”

“Maybe make one two…”

Their fingers danced up the chain, entwining around each other.

“Then we can learn how to make two one…”

His eyes widened. Their meaning clear enough, he pressed on.

“So aside from everyone’s sudden interest in my vivisection,”

_and certainly out of a self-preservation instinct,_

_“…_ what if I told you I knew how I obtained my second?”

It was their turn to widen their eyes, overwhelmed with hope. Hands clenched in excitement.

“TRULY?”

“TELL US NOW!”

“First, promise you won’t disassemble me.”

Ren waved his concerns away, leaning back and tugging Ran with her before tracing powdered fingers along her twin’s cheek.

“What will be done will be done, but if we can merge we will have no reason to open you up.”

Ran bounced giddily.

“Oh, sister, we’ll finally be together, truly, forever…”

“In time, my dear, but for now, I would like you to finish the food for me. I will entertain the Dualist.”

Ran nodded, carefully untangling herself from the chain of flesh and bringing herself to her feet to plant a gentle kiss on Ren’s cheek, glancing with a smile at the Wisp as it settled into the Lantern. After a brush of her other half’s hair, she wandered into the kitchen.

“So tell us how you obtained _your_ other…”

Razel cleared his throat loudly.

“Well, I absorbed it. Simple as that.”

Ren blinked at him, hesitating and fiddling with her hands before she continued.

“But…how?”

“The other spark was in another individual, but the other individual was also my duplicate. I have consumed planeswalkers before, but never before has their spark come with. I’d always assumed I was siphoning their residual self-image. Still, you two being of one self will work in your favor.”

Ren leaned back slightly, her tone losing some of its mirth in place of confusion.

“So you absorb the other individual, who is also you, and…you…absorb them?”

“Right. Explaining it is the hard part, sadly.”


	25. Double Down

Deep in thought, Ren absentmindedly grabbed a rodent which had crept out from under the table and placed its head in her mouth, chewing curiously. It squirmed and wrothe and fell still within her hand.

“So show me.”

Razel had the impression of the walls advancing on him, and the room grew very small as he replied.

“No.”

Ren crunched through the rodent’s torso loudly. Ran yelled in from the other room.

“WHY NOT?”

Ren raised her eyebrows, her expression demanding a response.

“Well aside from the time it takes to prepare a duplicate, none of them had ever ignited before. It was a freak occurrence. I don’t even know if I _can_ reproduce it.”

She chewed noisily behind closed lips, a trickle of crimson tracing from the corner of her mouth.

“Can you show us how to absorb someone else?”

He balked again, but thought better of denying them further.

“…sure. Do you have anybody handy?”

“RAN, BE A DEAR AND FETCH THE SQUATTER, WOULD YOU?”

Louder clattering suggested she had dropped something in her excitement, the idea borne out by her high squeal.

“EEEEEEE! ABSOLUTELY!”

Sounds of crashing bowls gave way to thudding steps, while a struggle sounded from upstairs, chased shortly thereafter by muffled whines and thumps as the man was lobbed bodily into the sitting room, landing painfully on top of the lantern. It broke beneath his weight and pierced his flesh in several places, scattering glass and leaving a trickle of red to drip towards Razel. His Wisp guttered out, not needed in the softly lit room anyway. The man was no more than thirty, yet he was haggard and worn to the point of passing for ninety. Strips of flesh had been peeled from him in odd places, leaving raw red wounds that wound around his limbs. More crashing from the kitchen signaled Ran’s return to the bread. No sounds came from the prisoner, and no explanation of his crime was offered. Razel stood at once, looking to the gagged face with his best apologies as he explained his actions to the man’s captors. He hoped his projected confidence hid the lack of faith in his words.

“Absorption takes many forms, but exsanguination is what most folks think of. Simply draining the blood isn’t enough in this instance though, as you need to manipulate the very Spark itself.”

Ren leaned forward, entranced as she slurped up the tail. He continued, trying his best to maintain eye contact with her while she kept it unbroken, staring intensely.

“I’m going to assume you’re familiar with directing your intent?”

Ren shied away for a moment, looking demurely at him as though he were a postman asking for her mother to complement her age.

“Basis of all magic, Dualist. I’ve been around enough to know that…”

He left his curiosities to rot where they sprouted, continuing.

“Alright. The only requirement here is physical contact that breaks the skin. This is important for Planeswalkers more so than otherwise, as piercing into their RSI will let you address it directly with yours.”

Ren nodded sagely as he went on.

“Watch how I go about this.”

He held out his hand to show her, drawing attention to the points that formed from the tips of his two middle fingers. Ren gasped slightly as she watched him bury them into the man’s neck with a half-speed flourish, slipping through flesh and meat alike. He barely jerked at the intrusion into his body.

“At this point, reach out with your self and draw his essence into yours. Use whatever mental aid you desire; High to Low pressure, a Drain, a Hill, whatever helps draw it in to you.”

For emphasis, he flexed his fingers, the man’s neck throbbing as his body began to wither. There was not much to take, but what little life remained Razel mercifully stole. The man’s eyes lost their glimmer, dulling and rolling as his body contorted. Bindings kept him from flailing, but when the deed was done his withered husk was curled back as if it had been left out in the sun.  His hands splayed wildly, fingers spread in stiff dead curls.

“That’s the gist of it. For your specific circumstance, there might be other variables to consider though.”

“Such as?”

He thought for a minute, shaking residue from his fingers. Contemplation of the pieces involved gave him a logical suggestion, but getting it into coherent phrasing was trickier than he intended.

“You each have half of a spark, so I would suggest some sort of…mutual action. If both of you absorb each other, at the same time, you could…maybe…wind up halfway, with both of you absorbed into another, rendering one being.”

Puzzling through the words to make sure she understood it, Ren brightened slightly as realization spread through her, dimming again as she caught his tone.

“You don’t sound certain.”

He shrugged, praying for nonchalance to serve in place of confidence.

“Magic is never certain, you should know that. Still, if we have the rough form and sharper intent, usually you can coerce reality into doing what you want.”

Ran came padding in, a plate of freshly-sliced bread steaming on a tarnished silver platter. A serving of fried skins lay beside them, crackling with oil. She set it down next to the corpse and broke off a finger to suck on it curiously. Ren tossed the chain around her, hurriedly tugging her close. Razel refrained from reacting, squirming meekly in his seat, hoping his discomfort did not show. He sometimes ate, if only for the novelty, but they seemed to taste things impulsively, reveling in the sensation itself. Ran mumbled around the digit as Ren took a slice of bread and snapped off another finger, placing it in Ran’s mouth before she stole the other one, pressing it between her own lips pleasantly.

“Will this work, my dear?”

Ren gestured with the extremity for emphasis as though it were naught but a breadstick.

“The Dualist seems to think so.”

He wasn’t fond of them talking as though he was not present. As if hearing his thoughts, a notion with was not one he wanted to contemplate, they both faced him in unison, the synchronicity unnerving him further. Their hands crept towards each other along the fleshy links.

“What if we had someone…helping us?”

“Yes, a third party…”

“A mediator, as it was…”

Their gaze was one of longing and desire, the possibility of deliverance making him all the more appealing. Razel spoke up quickly.

“No, if I were directly involved I may end up absorbed as well, and then you’d be four in one, and that would just…I don’t know…be confusing? Or something?”

They looked at each other, considering. They seemed to agree. Ran replied first.

“What if you just oversee it?”

“Yes, make sure we do it properly…”

“We have ways of being one, just never completely…”

“We won’t _force_ you to join us…”

They sat across the table from him bound in flesh, caressing each other casually and blocking his route to the exit. Unsure if they would or could follow him should he try to ‘walk, Razel thought it best to simply humor them and go ahead with it.

“I’ll help you if you help me.”

They smiled together, Ren reaching down and feeding Ran a crisp section of skin. They giggled as the crumbs caught in her shirt, brushing the debris onto the floor. Ren was amused by his sudden acquiescence, her voice lilting in amusement.

“Didn’t we make that offer earlier?”

Ren plucked the rest from her twin’s bosom as Razel focused on a lamp in the corner, admiring the etchings as he tried not to stare.

“You did, but I’ve already kept up part of my end.”

The twins shared a look and shrugged. Ran used a slice of bread to sop up some of the fluids on the table, burying herself in it vigorously while her twin spoke.

“Well, you have educated us, so we shall educate you.”

Ran smiled widely, crumbs falling from her teeth. She spoke to messy effect, Ren reaching out a finger to wipe them from her lips before savoring their flavor for herself.

“We know much about our bodies.”

"We have studied every part of our physiology…"

"...intimately…"

"...how they taste…"

"...how they burn…"

"...ALL of it."

Razel tried to piece together a question so as to focus their replies. Difficulty met him again as he attempted to compose a coherent inquiry regarding his Novus, yet he spoke it regardless.

“My second spark is making me unstable, and causes me to pool mana until I ignite and detonate. Can you think of any way to fix this? Have you heard of this sort of thing before?”

Ren wagged a crumby finger at him.

“One lesson, one question.”

“We’ve not heard of a situation such as yours.”

“Closest was a man that burnt himself from the inside out, but he was a singleton.”

“You are different.”

“You have more to consider.”

He frowned irritably while they leaned against each other.

“So you won’t advise me until after we attempt to merge you?”

Ran dabbed the red from Ren’s chin with a heel of bread, feeding a bite to her before taking a bite for herself.

“For your sake, it had better not be an attempt.”

Ren didn’t smile as much as spread her lips to speak.

“Lest we seek a…visceral…answer to our problem.”

He swallowed loudly and awkwardly. The twins leaned over the table, their eyes hungry.

“So will you come with us…?”

Ran leaned on an arm, raising her other hand and tossing her hair back.

“…upstairs…”

Ren began to creep around the table, pulling the chain taut and eliciting a gasp from them as the sensation was shared.

“…where we’ll…how you say…”

Ran reached out her hand to brush his hair from his eyes as she had done for her twin. He could smell the death about them, a scent he was not a stranger to but not what he was used to in these situations.

“…merge?”

Uncomfortable as he was, he knew he had to see this through for sake of potential knowledge.  Reservations weighed him down, but imminent mortality pressed it right back. He turned away, debating with himself. Any price was worth the possibility of answers, and any answers could help, even vague ones. Fighting fiercely against his own urge to flee, he looked inward and asked a simple question.

_What would Ophelia do?_

His own reply rang clear in his head.

 _Swallow your concern and see it through to the end. Take one for the team_.

Razel adjusted his collar, straightened his hair, and turned once more to the witches, a hammy grin hiding his uncertainty.

“ _Ladies._ ”


	26. Stairwell Shenanigans

Ophelia’s first thought was simply how very _crowded_ it was. This was not the largest crowd she had been in, but it seemed some unwritten requirement that a convention book a facility ever so slightly smaller than recommended for their inevitable turnout. Chatter echoed off of the three walkways lining the halls, conferences and exhibitions spread in any and all open rooms. Information clerks had their hands full directing the lost patrons, handing out folded maps and artificial bags with further promotional items. Ophelia took hers with a smile, no fangs showing through her pyromancer’s guise. Stereotypical red hair blazed from her head, while her lower height and variant features made her unrecognizable as the madam she truly was. A rotunda bit into the intersection of two walls, the three courts ringed with food providers as well as shops and services. No semblance of continuity wove through the crowd save their lack of similarity.

Her map seemed to suggest that even though she had missed the first few days of the conference, several experts were scheduled for today that met her requirements. Doctors, Scientists, all manner of experts took advantage of the chance to speak at large. People crowded in and out of rooms barely too small to contain them, the ballroom she chose to start with showcasing elevated tables set up on the far wall and hidden beneath a cream tablecloth.  A small pocket of staff members had sequestered themselves in the corner, monitoring the assistive speaking tech and translators while watching for any sort of interruption. A row split the uncomfortable chairs down the middle, leading to a Vocal Amplifier as well as a chance to be heard by the panel. Three individuals stood in line in front of her, each having spent significantly more time in the room and asking for clarification of a subject she had missed the explanation for.

It didn’t matter. The specialties listed after their names made clear enough that they would be able to offer _some_ sort of opinion. Whomever was in front seemed satisfied with their response and returned to their chair, while the next stepped up and offered their name and profession followed by their inquiry.

_How can I phrase this…?_

Cold air blew into the room from a vent directly above, producing a small chill she hoped made her more convincing. Razel managed to say exactly what he needed, but he had the luxury of being the ‘walker in question. Explaining herself succinctly and generically enough to prevent arousing suspicion was of paramount importance. As the man in front offered his thanks and returned to the crown, the last patron in front of her stepped up to offer his name and job. None of the attendees were obvious about their surveillance except for the staff in the back. Curiosity fed her wonder regarding the Academy’s presence here.  Before she had a chance to continue her thought, the man ahead offered a thank you and left, spurring her forward.

All eyes in the room fell to her out of habit if not curiosity, and the five gentlemen at the table eyed her genially. Ophelia did as those before.

“I am Melissa Sands, Pyromancer Adept. I’m currently looking into internally-induced combustion, and specifically reactions brought about through the receipt of a second Spark. Do you have any thoughts or suggestions for further research?”

Wishing she could see the faces of those in the crowd around her to gauge reactions, she instead made due noting the confused mumblings they shared. A Dr. Mologev reached for his Vocal Amp, adjusting his glasses while he replied for them.

“Young Lady, this panel is specifically in regards to natural-born dualistic anomalies. We are unaware of a scenario wherein you can safely obtain a second spark, let alone the interactions that might produce, especially to such a violent end. I’m sorry, but we can give you no answers.”

A curt bow and an obligatory smile was her only offer to them as she left the room in frustration. What use is a panel of experts that can’t tackle a subject off of their current topic? She rummaged through the bag, withdrawing the map and scanning for another panel more applicable to her circumstances. Her second attempt went about as well as her first. Three experts offered condolences instead of five, but still nothing useful had been gleaned. Hours passed with no sign of progress, ending in an infuriated order and a brainstorming session among the denizens of the food court.

Head in her hands, she cast her gaze about the people milling around. Now and then she would spy a glance in her direction, but none seemed serious initially. After a bite of the overpriced sandwich, her attention fell to a small boy, dressed well beyond his years and staring at her unabashedly. On notice of her attention, he deftly looked to something over her shoulder, then the molding, then the ceiling in an attempt to mask his own gaze.

_Someone’s curious._

She might not have noticed had she not feared it would happen. Ophelia had expected to attract attention, but not quite so soon. His garb was refined, but not opulent. He stepped casually, observing the attendees as they passed and using his dodging out of their path to creep closer to her.

_Need to find out who this little gremlin is and who he works for._

Taking her mostly empty tray in her hands, she turned and walked to the trashcan, dumping the remnants of her meal and placing the tray in the basket designated. She wove into a throng of folks, the current of bodies dragging her away without preference for direction. Difficult as it was not to turn and check, Ophelia placed a measure of trust in her pursuer’s talents and gave no clue to him of her awareness. Throngs of people dissipated and fell together as she bobbed down the river of patrons. The layout of the center was not terribly conducive to privacy, although a door farther on promised an access passage with a cracked door. Thanking her personal gods for the reliable clichés, she ducked into the stairwell, half-closing the door behind her and dashing up to the next level before bracing against the wall above the door to wait for her pursuer. The door creaked open and flooded the stairs with the cries of the crowd, but no footsteps followed her in.

_He’s listening for me…_

Looking around herself hurriedly, Ophelia silently removed one of her less important rings and tossed it up a level or two, clattering loudly against another door further on. His steps did not hesitate, lightly tapping into the cement enclosure and padding up the steps towards the waiting planeswalker. Crouched behind the waist-high wall, Ophelia had time enough to see the young man’s eyes gazing up to a higher  
platform before she reached out in a flash and grasped his face, throwing him to the floor and resting atop his body, pinning his limbs and sinking her fingertips into him for good measure. Aside from the grunt of hitting the floor, he remained defiantly silent.

“If you try to leave you’ll take me with you, assuming you’re a Planeswalker.”

She wiggled her fingertips within his arm, drawing winces and grimaces to his face yet no answer.

“No sense in trying to resist. Who are you? Why are you following me?”

His phlegm was thick and warm, and it hit her right beneath her left eye. She wiped it off with a slam of her face into his, seeing stars momentarily but pleased in a petty sense. A shake of her head cleared the rest off.

“Let’s try this again. Why are you following me?”

He made to spit at her again, earning only another head-butt and a loud bounce off of the poured stone. His broken nose leaked a red trail down his cheek as he cursed at her, finally speaking in his prepubescent whine.

“KARK, do you have to do that?”

“Will you tell me what I want to know?”

“Kark Of-”

Saving her face but not the intent, she slammed him hard against the stone once more, adding a bounce for good measure.

“STOP THAT! I’m not telling you an-”

The stone, by this point, had begun to show hairline cracks from the repeated application of cranium.

“KARKING HELLS, WOULD YOU STOP THAT?!”

She smiled her most unsettling smile, pressing him through a hunch.

“You work for the Academy, right?”

The flicker of his features was enough to discredit his denial.

“The what now?”

She slapped him instead, making sure to graze his nose as she did.

“The Academy. I’ve heard of you before. You seek out and recruit ‘walkers, right? Why are you trying to recruit me? What did I do that was worth noticing?”

He gobbled her lead entirely, allowing faith in the truth of her words to calm him somewhat.

“We won’t recruit anyone if you don’t stop hitting me!”

She stood briskly, tossing him aside and crossing her arms as she leaned against the wall, watching carefully as he dragged himself to his feet. The agent rubbed his arm, the gaping holes slowly receding into the flesh and healing as they went. His breath slowed and lightened, and he stood his full height, just barely lower than her own. Ophelia watched him running his words in his head, knowing he was lying almost as smoothly as she.

“Alright…kark…so you’re looking for information about getting a second spark, right? Side effects? Mass explosions? We can help.”

_So they are aware of the Novus…or at least the novas themselves. Why else be here, listening for those symptoms…_

She narrowed her eyes at him, not having to work terribly hard to portray mistrust.

“Maybe. I like explosions. What’s the catch?”

“You work with us, and not against us. Rather simple. We will teach you to responsibly and properly utilize your talents to whatever end you aim for.”

“As opposed to your ends?”

“We could use your assistance, actually. A recent incident has occurred that we feel you may be able to help us piece together.”

_Not mentioning ‘how’ I can help…nicely worded._

The openness with which he offered the knowledge seemed to imply that he would share more if led to it, but nothing he could or would tell her would be foreign to Razel, excepting their current itinerary. The agent still bore wounds from a few moments ago, even though he was visually pristine. Ophelia knew well that internally his energies were focused on rebuilding, while the façade of flesh hid his level of vitality. Instead of pressing him more, she caved, wanting nothing more to do with the individual.

“Alright. I’ll go with you. You’ll have to lead the way, though, and we shouldn’t walk here – too many people might find our exit.”

She avoided the use of the phrase _scar_ , not wanting to arouse his curiosity any further. He seemed just as fed up with the encounter as she hoped, pursing his lips and glaring at her while he shoved past and started towards the stairs.

“That’s true, and a good note besides. You should get on well with us-”

Her nails, extended through contained scythes of lightning, sheared into his neck and bisected it with a puff of vaporized flesh, sealing the wound and dropping his components down the stairs. She swung with her other hand, sectioning the head as it fell, then swung again to rain cubed skull down the steps. His body began to lose coherency, drying into a rotten ash and collapsing in a puff of grey green dust. Not one to waste, she took his pouch, claiming the tools inside and offering a parting gift of her own phlegm before stepping into the crowd and towards the exit, returning with knowledge, if not the knowledge they had intended.


	27. Up to Speed

To his dismay, Chittertrix was the first to return. He remembered the way well enough, but the silence irked him.

_Fabulous. More waiting._

He kicked the ice beneath his paws, tossing up a scuff of frost. Woodhouse was nowhere to be seen, and ‘Trix didn’t trust his own recollection of the layout enough to try and find him. Deciding the shrine looked intriguing and would serve as good of a spot to wait as any, he crossed the suspended walkway betwixt the flames and inspected the statue erected beneath the roof. Arms were plentiful, the cloak actual fabric, and the craftsmanship superb – except for the large fault splitting it neatly from forehead to chin. He doubted that had been intentional. Something about the figure tugged at his memories. He felt he should know it, yet after the uncounted years under the sea his memory was not quite as adequate as he would like.

Neither was his sense of time. He couldn’t say how long he stared at the divinity before he heard Razel’s signature calving, a sharp _crack_ calling his gaze behind him. He turned in time to see the rime mage step into the brief porch laid between his Manor and his Pool, striding over the Chittertrix with a slight wobble to his step. ‘Trix called out to him.

“How went your excursion? Find any useful information?”

Razel flashed his teeth, faking a smile as he was still unsure of what just happened.

“Wasn’t too terrible. Helped the two witches to merge into a single individual, but afterward they...it, she, whichever, claimed that I was trapped.”

Chittertrix tugged at his whiskers thoughtfully.

“Trapped how?”

“Something about my system adjusting to a new baseline. If I remove the second spark, I die. On top of that, any attempt to remove it will be countered by my own power – the remaining spark will be restoring the second even as I work to remove it.”

Razel sighed.

“What about you? How went the Hospital?”

A fluttering of bat wings stopped the Nezumi before he could reply as Ophelia strut onto the bridge and joined them.

“Let’s take this inside. We need to talk.”

They bore no argument, following her lead as she walked with purpose into the foyer, brushing open the door and directing Woodhouse with urgency as he appeared.

“We need a table and chairs, n-“

Round and wide, the table _clunked_ loudly while three chairs clattered into place around it. Razel sat in his chair, a pile of paperwork appearing beside him, followed shortly by Woodhouse standing over his left shoulder to observe the proceedings. Chittertrix took his own seat, threading his tail through the opening in the back and looking to Ophelia, still looming over them.

“We have problems.”

Razel raised his brow as he had done countless times before.

“I think there’s a word for this…’duh’? ‘Durr’?”

She lobbed the agent’s pouch into the middle of the table, shutting him up and widening his eyes. Chittertrix merely watched in curiosity as the rime mage scrabbled for the pouch, withdrawing a handful of objects and dashing outside against Ophelia’s protests.

“Hey, hold up!”

His companions followed in a rush, stepping out in time to watch him crush them individually between his palms before he tossed them into the void. When he had finished, he turned to her darkly and stepped heavily back inside to his chair. Chittertrix decided to ask.

“So…”

“Possibility that they’re traceable. Can’t take the risk. This…This is not good.”

Ophelia dropped into her seat, ‘Trix only gaining more frustration as he felt woefully uninformed.

“What, exactly, is not good?”

“There’s an organization Roz used to-”

“Consortium of Planeswalkers. Their existence is a terribly kept secret. Their big thing is ‘Liability’. They claim to teach responsible use of magic in order to minimize collateral damage to reality from untrained mages.”

“That…that doesn’t sound so b-”

“They take a zero tolerance stance on liability, which they define as anyone who is a danger to the multiverse…or anyone who knows they exist and are not part of their structure.”

Chittertrix ran the words through his brain, sputtering connections through his still recovering faculties.

“So you left them and they’re after you.”

Ophelia placed a hand on Razel’s arm as she took over.

“They were after him already for leaving, and without knowing it they found him elsewhere when he first went nova. They are tracking him as two individuals, but apparently he’s gotten enough of their attention that I was followed at the convention. I dealt with him, but the fact that they have a spread already to look for him means that sooner or later we’re going to have to deal with more than a lone hunter.”

Razel mechanically tacked on his thoughts.

“I’m two liabilities in one. I’d laugh if it weren’t…ah, whatever. Ha.”

‘Trix cleared his throat.

“Well, I managed to find precisely what we were looking for.”

Their eyes lit up, inspiring anxiety at knowing he would not provide a reply they would like.

“Your second spark, you mentioned it had just ignited?”

“It was mid-ignition, actually.”

“Young, I’m getting at?”

Razel’s eyes narrowed with worry.

“…yes?”

“There is an appendix stating that when a system is imbued with a second spark of differing enough age, their variance in composition can produce these…novas…you seem to suffer from.”

“Alright, so we have confirmation for sure. Anything else?”

‘Trix hesitated.

“Yes, well…it specifically said that if you do not manage to remove the secondary influence, it will build to a…to a _fatal_ level, and obliterate the second spark. Entirely.”

Ophelia seemed markedly nonplussed by this.

“Cera had implied as much. Well, knowing for certain is better than having a hunch. Roz, what about you? How went the trip to the witches?”

His answer came in an oddly calm tone.

“Oh, got a little R&R. Helped two witches merge into one. Was told yet again that I’m going to die.”

Chittertrix remembered what he had said previously, his own eyes widening. Ophelia took the opportunity to be uninformed, concern coloring her words.

“What exactly did they say?”

Razel shrugged.

“The usual. My system has already accepted having a second spark, so on top of losing the second one being obviously fatal, it seems that my primary will actively try to restore the second even as I work to remove it. Now that I’m adjusted…I would be dead otherwise.”

“But if we remove it…”

Razel threw his hands to the table.

“How? Where? With what? We don’t even know if it’s possible to remove a spark, although I know many have tried. I know losing one will kill me. I know trying to remove one will be resisted by the other, probably complicating things and accelerating the Novus. The Academy is trying to find me, two of me, and both trails are going to converge soon if we don’t-”

Interrupting himself, his silence held for a minute as he glazed over in thought. Ophelia spun a hand to spur him on.

“If we don’t…”

He looked down to the papers, shoving many aside and taking the list of the spymaster’s suggestions hurriedly. He rolled it out, re-reading the section he had ‘x’ed out previously.

“We have to go to them.”

She had expected it might come to this, but hearing it from Razel was not how she anticipated the conversation to start. She let him continue.

“If they have a way to fix it, there’s hope. If not, I can force myself to ignite and take out at least one of their labs, if not more depending on the layout. If I’m going to die, it will be on my terms.”

Chittertrix smiled broadly at him.

“An honorable stance. I will accompany you, but afterwards, something tells me we may need to part ways for a while.”

Ophelia agreed.

“If we do this, there is a very real chance we will have to impose a decent exile to protect each other.”

Razel shook his head.

“No. If I ignite, I’ll make an exit they can’t track. I can teach you how to cut off your trail as well, but I ask that you do it as sparingly as possible.”

‘Trix pulled the document over to him, reviewing the text as if he had been raised to read it.

“Now, why would we want to do something that useful…sparingly?”

“There was an anomaly in Dominia not that long ago. Rifts in reality, the very kind the Academy tries to prevent, were popping up all over the Dominarian sector. They were similar to planar scars, some even stemming from them, but they were untraceable. Their effects were varied and unpredictable. Temporal anomalies, alternate timelines…it was fun to those such as us, but for mortals, it was cataclysmic. I was out of the range of influence at the time, as were many of our brethren, but a few individuals managed to seal the rifts…all of them. Simultaneously.”

Chittertrix wasn’t certain where he was being led.

“Which means…what? How did they do it?”

“They sacrificed their sparks, and in a move as shortsighted as it was desperate, they keyed it to resonate through the rifts themselves, changing the very nature of the sparks of any ‘walkers caught in the substantial radius. You’ll find many of your kin are much less fearsome now that you’re out and about.”

“I still don’t see what this has to do with cutting off our trail. It’s a tragedy, yes, but as long as we don’t seal any rifts-”

Razel raised his brows as ‘Trix caught on.

“…oh. So you know how to trigger a rift, then?”

“I can show you, yes.”

The Nezumi scoffed, rolling up the parchment and dropping it.

“Well, then how do we find them?”

Ophelia looked to Razel hopefully, the rime mage deep in thought.

“Finding them isn’t the issue. Getting around is.”

“How so?”

“One of their passive security measures is the doors themselves. Any time you open one of their special doors, it will take you to wherever you expect it to within their network, as best it is able.”

“Is that what your doors do?”

Razel turned to face Chittertrix.

“That’s…yes, yes it is. It’s efficient. Still, because of that, you will need me to take care of opening all the doors.”

Ophelia raised a decent inquiry.

“How do you tell them apart?”

Razel breathed heavily.

“You don’t. You open it and find either what you’re looking for or the next room. Although if you’re looking for the next room…”

The confusion seemed to be taking them already. ‘Trix had an thought.

“So we’re letting you lead us, but how do we get there in the first place?”

“We have a couple options for entry, although paradoxically the least monitored when I left was the Hunter’s Causeway. We’d have to go at it from their outpost, as well as several blind hops beforehand, possibly starting with a rift. I don’t like it, but I refuse to have you two die needlessly for me.”

His comment only made Ophelia smile.

“We’ll see who dies and what winds up needless. I happen to have a contact within the Academy of my own that can provide us with minor assistance, but I wouldn’t know what to ask him for. Can you help with that?”


	28. Deep Throat

Foam crashed onto the sharpened spires, waves beating the stony shore. The stones receded into sand, a beach leading into the line of trees as sounds of natural life harmonized with the tides. Ophelia leaned against a loping tree, large husky seeds looming above her.  Sea air and jungle nature, scents she could never tire of. A particularly loud crash deposited her informant in the middle of the stretch of sand, the floating disc accompanying him supporting a large crate full of documents and materials. The Madam strut into the sand, smiling sweetly, if insincerely.

“Terrec, thank you so much…”

The informant was a small, scrawny man, but he walked with an air of importance. His shifty eyes constantly scanned the trees for enemies, his head cocking to the occasional sound deeper into the jungle.

“Don’t thank me. I barely managed to get what you asked for.”

Ophelia tilted her head, feigning ignorance.

“Did you get it all?”

He scoffed at her.

“Of course I did. I _always_ keep my word…well, alright; maybe there was _one_ thing I couldn’t get.”

Ophelia’s expression dropped to a serious aspect.

“What?”

He shifted his feet awkwardly.

“The records on that anomaly you had mentioned. Seems he’s been busy recent like, and the security’s racked up a bit. Still, I can tell you that they call him the ‘Eruption Anomaly’ and the collateral he causes is directly responsible for the case being elevated as high as it has.”

Her frown was harsh, but bore no inquiry.

“Alright. Pass the rest over, I’ll make due.”

He nudged the disc over to her, the sturdy crate bobbing along as she steadied it, lashing it to a tree before turning to continue.

“Are they aware of your ‘donation’?”

Terrec shrugged, nonplussed by the idea.

“I’m pretty certain they’re aware of something, although what I couldn’t say. Hell, I would assume you’d be trying to get in, but-”

A steel sphere bound in etchings careened into the sand between them, cutting off his response as Razel dropped from a tree slightly further down and strode towards them, fingers extended. Ophelia was visibly livid, but she did not move to stop him. Terrec‘s eyes widened as he watched the hand-length helix grow from Razel’s fingertips, widening more as he recognized him.

“You…You’re the Anomaly…We’re chasing you twice?”

“Good to know they still pass around my face.”

Terrec had no time to respond as the augur bore into his eye, shoving him to the ground while Razel hurriedly pruned through the informant’s thoughts. Terrec’s limbs jerked and spasmed, pearlescent fluid leaking from every opening above his neck. Motion and flow ceased abruptly, the icicle snapped off and left to melt in the wound. Razel cracked his neck, turning to Ophelia, finding only her hand against his face. The blow was stronger, angry, uncontrolled. Her nails gouged part of his cheek away, and the force of it knocked him rolling into the sand. She stomped over to the lock and crushed it beneath her heel.

“Why are you always so STUPID?!”

Razel rose with a hand on his face, disbelief coloring his experience.

“I…I’m stupid?!”

“YES! Why would you follow me? Kill my informant?! Do you not trust me?! DID YOU LEARN NOTHING WHEN I BANISHED YOU FROM THE BORDELLO?!”

Razel defended himself vehemently.

“HE KNEW WE WERE GOING TO BREAK IN! YOU THINK I’M THE ONLY ONE THAT CAN RUT ABOUT IN HIS SKULL?!”

“HE ASSUMED! HE DIDN’T _KNOW_ ANYTHING!”

“HE KNOWS YOUR FACE!”

“THEY’VE HAD A FILE ON ME FOR YEARS AND YOU KNOW IT! HE WAS USEFUL AND YOU JUST COST ME ANOTHER CONTACT!”

“HE WAS GOING TO SELL YOU OUT!”

“DO YOU KNOW THAT FOR CERTAIN?!”

He hesitated, not having an honest answer to give that supported his claim.

“No, but it was too much of a risk!”

“ _YOU’RE_ TOO MUCH OF A RISK! No, actually, you know what? You’re worse. You’re a liability.”

He froze, lips pursed, tone icy.

“Take that _back_.”

She raised her eyebrows in defiance.

“Make me.”

He returned the favor from earlier, introducing her to the back of his own hand.  Her face was left intact, but now it was her turn to express disbelief.

“You…you…”

Her surprise shifted to fury. She leapt with a roar, tackling him and taking his wrists. They wrestled in the sand, rolling and pinning and rolling again. Razel, caught on his back, pressed his feet firmly into the shifting silicate and heaved, lobbing her off of him and granting space enough to ‘walk, landing atop her back and taking her wrists. The effort made him dizzy, and he wobbled momentarily. Ophelia took the opportunity and shoved up, rolling him off and below her. She took both of his arms and restrained them above his head, his eyes refusing to meet hers as she glowered down at him. His breath was ragged, and he looked physically ill. She softened her features slightly. He spasmed, an involuntary reflex, removing the quarrel from both of their minds. After several tense minutes of waiting, the symptom did not show again. Razel, full of shame, continued gazing off towards a distant summit while Ophelia released him and crossed her arms.

“Don’t forget the important thing here. I’m trying to help you. Don’t direct your inability to deal with a crisis at me or my cohorts.”

He kept staring past the trees, numb to the realm. Ophelia stood, walking back to Terrec’s remains and sifting through his belongings. Some found their way into her pockets, but most wound up strewn across the beach. The crate had dutifully remained, the lashings easily torn and cast aside. She towed the intel behind her, standing over the rime mage and looking down to him.

“So are you just going to lay there? Or are you going to come back to the retreat with me and help me make sense of this mountain of paperwork?”

He grunted irritably, rising lethargically and following the Madam between spaces. A few short hops to cloud their trail later and they emerged beside his Manor, towing the crate into the Foyer where Chittertrix was busy playing cards with Woodhouse. Woodhouse immediately cleared the table on seeing his master, taking the crate and laying out all of the materials before they had sat down. Chittertrix looked down from his hand of cards to the refreshed surface, blinking a few times.

“So…we’re done playing then?”

Razel flopped in his chair, wasting no time in shuffling through the paperwork while Ophelia filled the other two in.

“So aside from a brief hiccup of priorities, the informant came through. All of this is what Roz had us ask for; although I’m fairly sure we don’t need more than half of it.”

“Less,” Razel added. “Most of this is obfuscation. We only _need_ these.”

He held up two thick folders as Woodhouse cleared the rest of the objects back into the crate. Razel directed his loyal servant with a flippant wave of his hand.

“Put those in with the rest of the Academy file. I’m sure they’ll be useful. _These…_ ”

He tossed the folders down.

“These are the hardwall schema and current staffing assignments for the Hunter’s Causeway and the Research and Development department’s Physiology division. Using this we can find a serviceable route from the Causeway to a multidoor, at which point we can utilize the assignments to find a suitable specialist, coerce him, and if it goes south, I’ll initiate a Novus to cover your trail.”

Ophelia squirmed subtly at the thought, but said nothing. Chittertrix placed the cards in his sleeve, taking and looking over the schema for one of the rooms.

“What does this ‘Well Emitter’ do?”

“That makes it harder for us to escape. We’ll have to look for a room whose hardwalls are outside the boundary of a Well to make our exit.”

“A ‘Well’?”

“Like a whirlpool in the ether. If you ‘walk within its radius, you are shunted to the destination it specifies.”

Chittertrix frowned. Razel placed his head in his hands.

“Look, I know this isn’t exactly what _any_ of you want to be dealing with right now. I’m not handling it well, and I’m sorry for that. I _do_ appreciate it, beyond my capacity to convey…but if you want to leave, that’s fine, and I won’t hold it against you.”

Ophelia sighed exasperatedly, rolled her eyes, and looked to him wryly.

“Just because we disagree on some things doesn’t mean this can’t work out as a partnership. I told you I’d help and I’m going to, as best I can.”

‘Trix nodded in agreement.

“You sprung me from aeons of solitude. I am in your debt, and it seems to me the least I can do is see this through with you.”

Ophelia piped back in.

“So stop doubting yourself already. We have infiltrations to plan.”

The rest of their evening was spent reviewing documents, taking notes, reviewing notes, making documents, and connecting a rough map of places not meant to connect through logical means. The personnel list yielded only a single surprise – the scientist Karl, alive, was assigned a large laboratory close to a multidoor and his project was classified as ‘Spark Manipulation’. It was precisely what they needed, ideally.

“This surprises me none,” Razel had said. “When I killed him initially he was experimenting on sparks – seems fitting to go back to him.”

Serendipity aside, plans were laid. Razel led them out to his icy lawn, calling shifting frozen walls to simulate what rooms they had the space to. Every detail, every route, all of it was repeated and rehearsed and practiced for hours. Choreography, backup plans, contingencies, everything foreseeable was jotted into their plans. With understanding spreading through them, they replaced the intel within their folders, Woodhouse filing them away in the depths of the Manor. The frozen simulation, a shoddy recreation of an empty laboratory, sublimated straight to steam, wisping away to line the inside of the spherical pocket realm. Razel’s sigil glowed gently through the transparent ground, the helical cartouche calling them to the circle. Ophelia broke their temporary silence.

“So are we ready to do this?”

Chittertrix nodded and rubbed his paws.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.”

Razel wordlessly agreed, nodding and running it through his head over and over again. Ophelia did not hear his head shake.

“Roz?”

“Yes, yes, ready and willing.”

They took their places at the majority of the cardinal faces, Woodhouse stepping up slowly to the remaining space.

_Clack…clackety clatter?_

Ophelia’s eyes tightened, looking to Razel to offer an explanation.

“Not this time. Same reason as before applies. You know where we’re going, you know it’s too much of a risk.”

_Clack clack clackety clack!_

“I’m sure you would be. Regardless, we can’t chance it. I thank you for the offer, but no.”

_Clack clackety-_

_“ **NO**_.”

The word was heavy and final, and it weighed down on Woodhouse’s shoulders visibly. The House Guard sagged, but offered no further complaint.  Instead he made a point to walk away slowly, lingering in their presence as long as he could. When the sound of marble on marble met their ears, they took a simultaneous deep breath to calm their nerves. Razel offered a weak smile to his companions before they left, unable to decide on words of inspiration. Instead, he could only think of one thing to say that would suit the occasion.

“It’s show time.”


	29. TEA

The Causeway’s point of entry had lain unchanged for millennia, countless planar scars having torn a rift large enough that the Academy had since stabilized it for use as a large-scale gate. It unceremoniously spat out the three intruders, Razel hunching down and leading them behind a waist-high island built as a staging area for any gear the hunters may need. A Dias encircled the gate, running straight to the edge of the four islands built along the curve before dropping roughly a foot to the floor proper. Formed stone seamlessly flowed from floor to wall to ceiling, while the tall arch leading to the rooms beyond sat on the far side of the room from them.

Ophelia and ‘Trix followed Razel’s lead, both having acknowledged their status as assistance and trusting the instincts of the only member of the trio who was familiar with the location. Razel peeked a head over the countertop, surveying the room with a nostalgic eye.

“Hasn’t changed much at all,” he mused. “Glad to see that gate got reinforced. Or not, depending.”

‘Trix and the Madam shared a shrug. The rime mage crept towards the next island in sequence, keeping himself hidden behind the counter as best he could. With another meerkat impression, he hurriedly motioned them over. They crept over with stealth unexpected, ducking down at Razel’s sudden urging and hushing. A pair of voices grew from the archway, approaching as they gossiped about their current assignment.

“-like that last one! Gods, I haven’t seen a guy faint that fast since the one kid we bagged on Khemet.”

The other voice chuckled, deeper that the first.

“That’s because it was a desert. Whatever. Hey, you got everything?”

Their footsteps stopped, replaced by shuffling fabrics and clattering trinkets.

“Looks like. Standard in and out.”

“Well I’m grabbing a second backup cell just in case. I don’t want to get tapped out again.”

They chuckled among themselves, speaking no more. Their steps echoed off of the Dias, and within moments their presence was removed with a loud _VWOP_. A moment of hesitation, then Razel peeked around the corner, making sure they were not followed. Certain once more, he motioned for them to stand and padded over to the Arch, flattening against the wall before he spoke.

“They try to avoid over-booking the Causeway, so we should have another few minutes before the next team comes through.”

Another peek into the equipment room, and the trio ducked through the aperture and dashed over to rows of racks, stepping out of sight behind a display of some truly awful looking artifacts. Spikes, Coils, restraints, anything and everything that could possibly assist with capture or execution was represented in some form. Locks filled the case behind them, while a shelf of spare power cells and gems sat right against the entrance for ease of access. Razel grabbed a lock and placed it in his pouch, crushing each of the remaining units in turn. Ophelia and ‘Trix joined in on the sabotage, and within moments the wall displayed only crumpled steel. They snuck around the room, subtly manipulating things as they went. A cable here, a switch there, a reversed power cell every once in a while; whatever appealed to them as they crossed the chamber was simply done.  On reaching the far door they drew closer together, hugging the wall and sneaking down the hall to the Causeway itself.

About the same size as the Gate chamber, the Hunter’s Causeway displayed all manner of information through crystalline screens and magical projections. Overwhelming to behold, the data was constantly shifting between various feeds, sometimes displaying structures of hardened light before changing to a brutally accurate rendition of the internal workings of a bear. As soon as they set foot into the room, the images cut out, all the displays refreshing to a blank slate. Ophelia was unsure of them, but merely spoke up instead.

“Are you certain they aren’t monitoring this room?”

Razel nodded, paying the empty information no mind as he led the trio to a single flamboyant door.

“It’s something they have it do to cycle the memory reserves. It resets as soon as it detects motion, but otherwise, think of it as a Golem dreaming.”

Ophelia scowled, but accepted the explanation. A clattering filled them all with dread, the handle of the door turning of its own accord. Razel roughly grabbed his companions and threw the lot of them behind a mound of cabling, barely receding from view himself before the door opened. It closed with a slam, and they watched as the hunter appeared in profile and strode past them, unaware of the intruders. Soon as he was in the hall, Razel whispered impatiently.

“We need to leave now. He might notice the modifications we’ve made.”

Nods of agreement were all they needed to follow Razel to the elegant door. The rich burnished gold of the woodgrain was raised in an oval at the center of the door, but Razel paid it no mind as he closed his eyes and swung it in, shoving his companions through.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LOCKS?!”

The rime mage stepped in, closing the door and turning to his companions. Chittertrix was the first to question their location.

“This isn’t Research and Development.”

The reasonable chamber was untouched, frozen walls connected uninterrupted to the varying furniture sculpted from the ice itself. A chest sat next to an imposing desk, while various weapons hung from the walls off of hooks engraved with matching motif to the item on display. Swords, Staves, Sceptres, multitudes of shapes and styles filled the wall.

“You’re right. This is my old room.”

Ophelia ran her fingers along the walls, while Chittertrix followed Razel across to the chest.

“So why are we here, instead of R&D?”

“Because we needed to get out of there as soon as possible, and I didn’t want to chance going somewhere random.”

Razel bent over the lid, lifting it with a creak that demanded lubricant. Inside a mess of parchment haphazardly cradled trinkets and half-built mechanisms, the storage of a mind with no goal to reach. Everything useful had already been removed when he fled, but the perceived chaff littered what remained.  Chittertrix perused what papers were easily reached.

“Duplication…Memory excision…Animal Husbandry?”

He snatched the parchment away from the Nezumi, glowering and tossing them back into the chest. He dropped the lid irritably.

“The spreading of traits between generations can be a fascinating subject. You should see the Variability of the common Rathi Sliver.”

Ophelia’s face soured at the mention of the creatures.

“Vermin.”

Razel rolled his eyes, while Chittertrix took offense.

“Hey, I resent that.”

“Resemble, more like.”

‘Trix smacked her arm. Razel had already moved back to the doorway, and was reaching for the handle when they got over to him.

“You all ready for this?”

He swung the door outward, leading them into an entrance lined with reliefs carved with reverence usually reserved for holy places. With a quick reminder to stay focused, he led them into the walkway and down the hall. A researcher walked out of a door on one side of the hall and into another across, not even looking up from his data pad at the three coming down the hallway. A grander hallway cut through it slightly further in, signs hung from the ceiling ornately expressing the directions they needed to follow. Not a single soul stopped them as they went, which Razel had counted on. Everyone in this division was far too obsessed with their work to bother with the comings and goings of the rest of the Academy.

A gigantic circular hub caught the end of the hallway, spreading out radially in eleven matching passages. Pulsing machinery wrapped around a large crystal suspended from the ceiling, dangling over a Dias similar to the one in the Causeway except that is appeared to absorb light instead of reflect it. Thick, load-bearing pillars held the stone above the platform. As they passed, a distant muffled explosion met their ears, and moments later a clinician staggered off of the black dais, smoking slightly and singed in places. He stumbled over to another door and fell through it, the multidoor closing briskly after him.  Razel casually motioned to the technology, explaining under his breath as they went.

“That’s the Well Emitter. There’s one at the center of each physically-connected complex – allows you to escape potentially disastrous results from the sealed labs and shunt yourself back to the Centerpoint.”

‘Trix stared at the device, craning to maintain eye contact until he was forced to break. The hall they crept down was smaller than the previous, but only by a matter of feet. Walls lined with reinforcing bracing suggested the experiments within were less than savory.  A door further ahead opened, followed by an unnaturally tall humanoid ducking into the hall and closing the door after itself. It strode along gracefully, stopping with a rut of its large eyebrows and addressing them directly. Ophelia and ‘Trix tried to maintain their composure as the researcher queried.

“What are you doing here? On top of that, don’t they make you update your _geis_ anymore?”

Razel spoke with the conviction of a man who knew what he was doing. Which he certainly did.

“I’m taking these two to Karl. In a hurry.”

The oversized eyes darted between the three of them to settle on Razel.

“Well you’re going the wrong way. Karl’s lab got reassigned after that nastiness with the thragtusk and the lich’s mirror. I think they’re still cleaning chunks of goblin out of the molding. Regardless, I’ll take you to him. C’mon.”

The scientist brushed past them, prompting Ophelia to widen her eyes in worry at him with Chittertrix doing much the same. Mouthing ‘ _trust me_ ’, he fell into step behind the researcher and attempted to entertain small talk.

“So what does Karl need these two for? Is he still working on ignition trials?”

Razel shook his head, hoping to remain generic in his response.

“Didn’t give me all the details. Something about manipulation, I don’t know. I’m just a delivery guy.”

The scientist laughed.

“Not bloody likely! You’re probably going to take part in the trial to a limited extent. Not like Karl to waste a subject, even when the topic is waste.”

The rime mage smiled emptily.

“Yeah, I’ve had to ‘assist’ before. There was one about rifts, one about desiccation…”

His guide waved his hands erratically to silence him.

“Whoa, hey, whoa. I don’t need to know. All that is confidential and I don’t want the wrong admin coming down on my head for some Hunter breaking an NDA.”

Razel shrugged.

“You asked.”

The scientist frowned.

“Actually I didn’t. I think this conversation is about done.”

He didn’t see the rime mage roll his eyes, but he led them through the labyrinth of halls just the same. Ophelia made special effort to note the location of the nearest Multidoor, tracking the path they took from the Centerpoint outward in her head. After several silent minutes, the scientist came to a stop in front of a pair of double doors.

“So here he is. I’m sure he doesn’t want to be kept waiting.”

Razel smiled and bowed, stepping towards the door. The scientist grabbed his arm before he could take the handle, looking at him suspiciously.

“Why _is_ your Aura out of date?”

Razel feigned a chuckle.

“See, funny story-”

His fist caught the scientist unaware, while his other hand reached into the researcher’s throat and drained him of vigor almost immediately. The withered corpse collapsed to the ground, and Razel took the now cracked power gems from his pouch and broke them against the floor. Draining that much that fast had ruined them, leaving no magical buffer in regards to his own abilities. He picked up the corpse and threw it over his shoulder, turning back to the door and grasping the handle firmly.


	30. Kaaaaaaaaaaaaarl

A sharp _click_ of the lock’s pressure plate being shifted into the active position preceded the _click_ of the door as the three of them entered the cluttered Laboratory, closing it securely after themselves. Whirring, thunking, buzzing, and snapping, the myriad materials wound about their metallic substrate, ampules flowing into casks powered by crystals emitting auras invisible to the eye. Noisily, the laboratory undertook the kinds of scientific endeavors only possible with the liberal application of magic. A pool in the corner of the nearest sub chamber emitted a gentle blue glow, catwalks crossing the surface beneath a suspended mechanical manipulation device. More crosswalks and access paths danced through the tall rooms, sometimes bridging into higher levels of chambers further in.

Nothing passed their lips as they strode into the depths of the lab, following a recurring high whine whose timing seemed markedly manual. The room Karl was working in had been repurposed into a hangar, several mechanical exoskeletons lined against the wall. The progression from Proof of Concept to final design was clear to even the untrained, and the last body on the line looked less like the ‘mech of the initial designs and was closer to a humanoid golem, with bundles of conductive fiber in place of hydraulics or equivalent. As Karl shifted to face his visitors, they saw the face of his metallic man had more than a passing resemblance to its creator. The same strong cheekbones, the same tall face – only his unshaved beard refrained from reflecting on his artificial double.  More of the same soft blue glow peeked out of the bundles and skeletal support. Karl looked to the corpse on Razel’s shoulder, more irritated than curious.

“I didn’t order any corpses until _tomorrow_ , you dolts. Leave the body by the door on your way out.”

Razel held his heart within his chest, the violent beating threatening to consume him. Karl turned back to his work at once, attaching the fibers individually to their mounts on the artificial bones. Razel walked up to him and threw the corpse at his feet, cutting short the whine of the magical weld.

“That’s not the door. Why is he so desiccated already?”

Karl looked up, meeting Razel’s eyes and widening his own as he remembered his first death. Survival kicked in and Karl tried to flee, rippling and vibrating but staying in the room. He backed against the golem in evident fear, hands fumbling behind him.

“You…You’re back…What do you want?!”

“I need your help.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me again? Which one of you has the lock?”

Ophelia refrained from commenting on his homicidal tendencies. Chittertrix stepped a few feet further from Ophelia, effectively preventing Karl’s physical retreat. Razel continued.

“I’m the one you’re referring to as the ‘Eruption Anomaly’. I absorbed a second spark. It made me unstable and now I pool mana unwillingly until I detonate.”

Karl laughed long and loud.

“What, you mean to tell me we’re tracking you under high priority as _two individuals?_ _AND THE ROOT OF THE PROBLEM IS THAT YOU HAVE TWO SOULS?!_ Oh, this is delicious. What, I assume you thought I’d help you? Give you answers?”

Razel held his ground, arms crossed and face stern.

“Whatever you could. I know my system has accepted the second spark as normal. Trying to remove it will kill me as the other one rebuilds it. If you can remove it wholesale, fast enough-”

“There’s a reason you were a hunter and not a researcher, Korr. That technology is not within our repertoire. If it were, we could capture liabilities instead of kill them and harvest their sparks to seal rifts, which now that I think about it isn’t a terrible Idea.”

“So you can’t do anything.”

“Nope! My own research pretty much agrees with you. You’re going to die.”

Karl grinned maniacally as he pressed a hidden switch on the golem, its eyes glowing with a sinister red luminance.

“Although now it appears my theory has changed the cause. Say hello to little Karlito.”

Karlito stepped heavily past his namesake, a matching step back from Razel drawing it closer and closer.

“He’s meant to be a satellite body, and eventually a wholesale replacement. I was never very good with RSI manipulation.”

Thudding footsteps kept on as Karl ran to one of the earlier models, clambering into the harness and starting it up. His arms shot out of the cockpit, free to cast and manipulate from the safety of the armored vantage point. Big Karl stepped even heavier than his little cousin, prompting ‘Trix to question their tactics.

“Shouldn’t we…you know, run?”

Razel shook his head, staring down the metallic demon.

“If he won’t share his research willingly, I’ll take it by force.”

Unable to teleport due to the lock, he extended his signature augur, running a hand along the spike and flattening it into a broadsword as long as he was tall. Fog rolled from the frozen blade, shimmering blue and white. Karl screamed down to them though the amplified vocal projectors of the suit.

“YOU COME INTO MY LAB, MY HOME, AND THREATEN ME? IF YOU’RE DUMB ENOUGH TO COME BACK TO THE ACADEMY IN THE FIRST PLACE, YOU DESERVE WHAT YOU GET!”

Karlito wordlessly leapt at Razel as Karl stomped across the hangar. Chittertrix and Ophelia split in opposite directions, while Razel brought his blade around and up, launching the golem into the air momentarily. Shards of the frozen edge chipped away, sealing and reshaping sharper than before. Karlito landed deftly on his feet and hands, standing mechanically and leaping again.

_A satellite with limited intelligence…_

This time he swung from the opposing side, bringing the blade around as he watched Karlito brace for a blow to the chest. The ice caught him in the back and slammed the heavy frame into the poured floor, splintering more ice and scuffing many of the metallic ribs that were visible through the mesh of myomer. Karl reached a great mechanical hand for Razel’s back, only to be knocked away by ‘Trix landing a tackle on the forearm. He rolled away from the ‘mech, time enough bought for Razel to retreat against the wall. Ophelia yelled to him from behind the golem.

“We’ll take Karlito! Go smite daddy!”

Ophelia and the Nezumi changed their focus to the satellite body, who only just had regained his footing. Razel threw the sword at Karl, watching the ice sublimate to vapor before it could reach the hull. Karl laughed again.

“PROXIMITY AURA, KORR! TRY AGAIN!”

Fierce metal hands swiped at him, blocking his view of the scuffle on the other side of the room. Glimpses of rattail and flowing hair against shimmering steel peeked through, but the majority of his focus went to avoiding Karl’s grasp. Ophelia and ‘Trix were holding their own against the golem, baiting it into cycles of attacks and retreats that kept it from gaining traction in the fight. To Karl’s credit, where the golem moved it did so fluidly and expeditiously, but smoothing a simple pattern cannot replace the intricacies of directed movement. Chittertrix sucked loudly through his sinuses, hocking a thick tar at the golem. Where it met the metal it began to sizzle, but it was slow enough for the thing to wipe most of it off, resulting in sizzling hands and limbs but minimal actual damage. Ophelia attempted to utilize her electric manicure, noting with worry the ease at which her energy warped _around_ the body.

Karl threw his fist into the poured stone, kicking up a cloud of debris and dust. Several seconds of monstrous fingers stuck in stone allowed Razel the chance to leap on to the arm, grabbing hold as tightly as he could and hoping he could figure something out. When the scientist spied the rime mage on his limb, he cried out madly and began to flail. Inch by miserable inch he stole his way up the frame, barely resisting the inertia trying to rend him away. He felt the tingle of the defensive aura repeatedly as he was flung in and out of it. A glimpse of Chittertrix spitting nearly made him vomit out of reflex, making him briefly wonder what might come up.

Ophelia leaned back and fell to the floor, spying Razel clinging to the suit as she went. The leg that swiped through her prior placement was followed by the other, and as she rolled to her feet the Golem landed on its own, ready to strike. Another gob of oil caught it astride the face, covering one eye and causing a pause to wipe the muck away. Ophelia shoved a palm forward, the shadow of her hand knocking the construct from its feet and further back. ‘Trix padded over to her, the two facing the golem as it plodded closer. The Madam mused irritably.

“It just keeps going and going…”

Seizing a hint of an opportunity, Razel leapt from the arm and directly onto the head of the vain device. Big Karl was all sculpted steel and panel lines, but the face was still easily recognized. Oddly, it held no articulation, instead relying on the transparency of the viewport. An experiment, nothing more. Karl yelled as he lost sight of his prey, the hands now reaching up to grab at the head. Ducking under one swipe led him directly towards another, escaped only by rolling onto the shoulder and landing sharply on his back. Despite their best attempt, they couldn’t _quite_ get to him there. With a re-extension of his icy blade, he glanced to his companions.

Karlito was swinging brutally at Chittertrix while Ophelia tried varying spells in an attempt at damaging the thing. Some of the bundled fibers had snapped, fraying and slowing his movements to almost normal levels. In a reversal of odds, ‘Trix managed to duck a fist and grab it forcefully, wrenching it loose from the shoulder already weakened by his caustic phlegm. Now armed and dangerous, the Nezumi began to wail on the golem unmercifully with its own limb. If Karlito noticed it didn’t care, belligerently batting at its former arm and swinging ineffectually at the wielder. Ophelia kicked it in the spinal assembly with all her might, shearing the corroded vertebrae and rendering the legs pointless accessories.   With a final mighty swing, ‘Trix knocked the loose torso into the air, crashing into the side of Big Karl and drawing his attention their way.

Karl roared in fury at the sight of his ruined creation. Razel had to grasp the head to remain atop its shoulders as he bounded over, rearing back his arm to crush them beneath his fist. The exposure of the mechanisms within was all the incentive Razel needed, once more bringing his blade to bear. Not wanting to waste what was likely his only shot, he held time captive for exactly long enough to expel energy into his cleave through the machine’s shoulder actuators. Momentum returned with echoes of sundered steel ringing through the room as the arm fell to the floor and skidded away with its collected inertia. Karl turned in surprise, the ‘mech matching his movements and nearly flinging Razel again when the armor lost balance and toppled to the floor. Razel regained his own balance and vaulted onto the cockpit, raising his blade and severing Karl’s protruding arms in two clean butterfly swipes. Fingers of metal grabbed him like a vise as he removed the second arm, loosening as the limb fell but grasping long enough to crush the pouch and its contents, notably the lock, against his thigh.

Screaming and grinning, Karl jerked around under the glass, disappearing in a cloud of steam. Razel screamed hurriedly.

“FOLLOW HIM! NOW! ‘WALK!”

They willingly dove into the Well, spotting Karl just off of the Black Dias, wailing loudly and edging back a crowd of scientists. The group looked to the newcomers, then to Karl, and then began to flee.


	31. To a Close

“I need you to change your outfits to match theirs _now_. Play along and leave the second I destroy the well. It won’t be long before the first response arrives.”

They complied without question, robes rolling down the bodies of his two former companions, shrouding them in garb similar to the scientists. Ophelia stepped closer, reaching out to him.

“What are you going to-?”

Chittertrix jumped in surprise when Razel took her by the wrist, spinning her and holding her close, flicking his augur from his fingers and pressing the tip against her temple as he bellowed like a lunatic.

“NOBODY MOVE! FIRST ONE TO TRY SOMETHING, THE WOMAN GETS WHAT KARL GOT!”

Karl’s own wailing accented the threat, panic spreading even further as they fled in fear. The former superior scientist’s limbs were regenerating agonizingly slow, reconstructing every piece he was intimately familiar with, one by one – which due to his specialty was nearly all of them. Razel spoke soft enough that only the Nezumi and his own captive could hear.

“There are already too many witnesses. Only way out is to break the well and trigger a Novus to cover your tracks.”

Ophelia pleaded with him, her voice thick with emotion. She felt him trembling into her back.

“Roz…please, reconsider…I never…I never told you…”

“That you love me? I figured as much. Why else would you do all this?”

She sobbed heavily, tears now flowing freely from her reddening eyes.

“No, you _idiot…_ I mean, yes, but…”

Chittertrix began to back away from them warily, playing his part well.

“I shall see you later, my friend.”

“That you will.”

“Roz, wait-”

Loud _snaps_ broke their focus, a pair of hunters standing meters from them and chuckling to each other. Their mirth fell flat when they saw the scene. Razel threw Ophelia into their Nezumi friend, who caught her gently and began to back her away, against her struggles to the contrary. The larger of the two hunters spoke first, placing his fists on his hips.

“Well, well. Razel Korr. Case 1205-24. Why the hell would you come back?”

Karl ran between them, flailing partially-regrown stumps as he wailed past.

“No idea, Nolov. Who’s the newb?”

The newb puffed out his chest, glaring at the rime mage as Razel backed against a support pylon.

“My name is Thorne, thank you kindly.”

“Don’t really care. Stay back.”

He pointed the augur at them accusingly, wavering between them. Nolov stepped forward, cautiously, then again, Thorne right behind.

“Drop the icicle, Korr. We _will_ kill you on the spot.”

Razel raised an eyebrow disbelievingly.

“No you won’t, or you’d have done it when you recognized me.”

Ophelia grasped ‘Trix’s arm firmly, her tears drying but her eyes still red. The Nezumi leaned in and whispered to her.

“ _What’s wrong?”_

Thorne spoke this time, disingenuous but trying none the less.

“Let the Scientists go about their work, Korr. Come with us. You know, after a debriefing they might even let you back…”

Razel scoffed, unaware of the Madam’s reactions.

“ _If he goes…again…just one more…”_

Chittertrix felt a chill take him. Obviously she had not told him...how could she? He was still oblivious to them, bickering with the security, now joined by a trio of backup.

“You want to let the Scientists go?” Razel dropped the icicle, pointing his fingers at the crystal above their heads. “Destroy that.”

The other hand gripped the pylon, dissipating the material as well as the support it offered. Looking up at the monstrous creaking, Hunters split in all directions, everyone scurrying out from the dais beneath the massive crystal. Stone and steel calved, a deep perversion of the same glacial tone cracking through the room above the screams. A lurch of the gem started the descent, but the hard black stone beneath put an end to it, or at least tried to. Their collective mass shattered each other, shards of black and red thrown everywhere through the cloud of scintillating dust. Pops faded the screams from the hall as the scientists fled for safer rooms, while the hunters yelled to each other and tried to locate Razel through the mineral fog.

Ophelia and Trix looked around themselves too, spotting him atop a bust mounted over a doorway.  After a glance and a nod he took a deep, calming breath, and then dropped to his feet, walking slowly towards the cluster of hunters. He rendered his sword for a final time, reversing his grip and bracing it against the back of his arm as the vault mages of old had shown him. He closed his eyes, focusing through the blade and back into himself, looping his power until it sustained its own feedback, then giving it more. He spun the blade and buried it in the ground in front of him, resting his hands on the hilt as he channeled through it.  Dust still shrouded him from their view, but the Hunters felt him pool before they saw his shape.

Chittertrix turned Ophelia to face him roughly, shaking her.

“We need to leave. Now. He wouldn’t want this to be in vain.”

She choked the words out, not wanting to abandon him.

“Everything he does is in vain! He doesn’t even know he’s going to die!”

Chittertrix shook his head softly.

“I don’t believe that. Literally everyone has told him as much. He knows there’s always the possibility it could be his last. Do what you know must be done.”

She looked to the rime mage for a final time, looking away and stepping through the spaces without further comment. Chittertrix looked to Razel and sighed before following shortly behind, leaving their friend to his fate. Nobody noticed their departure, which is precisely as Razel had hoped. His power began to overflow, warming him from the inside and warping the air around him. He heard them shouting, saw them running and positioning, but he couldn’t acknowledge any of it. Their first lightning bolt came too late to stop him, striking the center of the blade and surging the process forward. Rivulets of water trailed down the sword, the energy too much even for its magical nature. A second bolt shattered the blade, but the pulse it gave pushed the reaction to criticality.

An azure flare lit the room, passing as quickly as it had come. Further spells simply lost coherence and sloughed around him, seeping into his flesh like so much liquid power. Mana arced from his shoulders to his elbows to his wrists, energy bridging all his joints in a cage of power that buzzed and crackled. Waves of shifting distortion wrapped him in an aura of uncertainty, shimmering heat rising off his skin. More Hunters arrived, arguing amongst themselves. One screamed about an Eruption. One called him an anomaly. Another and another until he shut their voices from his mind once again.

Flames licked at his fingertips, brilliant white and creeping up his arms. Where the fire met the power it receded, but the aura only grew stronger still. Some bold hunters had started to approach, encircling him at a respectful distance. Spells had since stopped coming once they realized their ineffectiveness, but the Hunters continued to bicker over how to contain him. Several words snuck into his awareness while the mana enveloped him, but he ignored them all. Single minded and resolute, he pushed his last reserve out of his soul, flaring brilliant blue momentarily before subsiding back to a blinding blaze.

Where before he had lost awareness, now he found a serene sense of grace and power. No fear of limitation, no worry of recourse, simply capability and intent. Faces lost definition, bodies lost form, leaving only essences within proximity, souls among souls. He knew they could not share his perceptions, and for a moment he pitied them for their lack of clarity. Razel looked around the ruined chamber with new eyes, empty save for himself and the Hunters. Satisfaction blossomed within him, radiating a wave of rippling crimson through his flames.

_Time for the Collateral._

Pressure of power told him that there were maybe minutes remaining until he could no longer contain his sense of self, mentally and physically. Never one to waste an opportunity, Razel extended a hand, looking past his fingertips to the wall beyond. A scowl and a swipe and all the wall he could not see simply ceased to be, aligned swaths of missing material gouged from countless rooms further on. That excited the Hunters, though for good or ill he could not bring himself to tell. More urgent matters pressed his attention, such as walking over to the noisy soul closet so him and running a hand along his ethereal face. Unpleasant, it would seem, or so the screaming suggested. He reached for the next in line, but the glowing entity fled his hands. Razel smiled widely, wondering if his teeth spilled flames as well.

His smile didn’t stop, peeling back and bubbling off of his skull as the energy dissipated his illusion of flesh.  Meat melted from his frame, a mist of muscle surrounding him momentarily. His first pulse shook through him like a hiccup. The shell of mana that spread from him threw back many of the souls surrounding him, some of which disappeared while some simply righted themselves and began to back away. Another wave of his hand swiped divots from more of the wall, crossing the previous wounds and dropping countless cubed segments of stone. Some particularly brave soul leapt onto him, regretting it immediately and dissipating in a plume of ethereal smoke.  His second pulse spread from him in a ring, cleaving those nearby in twain and burrowing deep into the walls.

What might have been an alarm rang deafeningly through the halls, delayed but well deserved. Three Hunters remained alive, backing away from him warily, unsure of what to do. Razel spoke, yet his words rang through the room itself instead of merely his throat.

 ** _“I suggest you flee._** ”

Whomever stood to the far left felt this was wise, but the other two held their ground, screaming something back at him that he was unable to understand. The Hunter to the right withdrew something from his belt and lobbed it at him, a disc which was drawing in power, focus, his attention, the dust, the walls…

His third pulse shattered the ring, breaking its hypnotic hold and draw on his sense of self. The rightmost hunter said something probably witty to his partner and fled, leaving the lone soul with the flaring Novus. Pleading, he thought, perhaps compliance, perhaps explanation, perhaps perhaps perhaps. All the words were wearing on him. Only power remained, filling him from seat to soul. Razel blithely swatted the back of his hand through the face of the remaining hunter, watching the light fade and leave him to his own devices. Sobs caught his attention through the alarm, a subdued and weakened soul sputtering behind an oversize pile of rubble.

Razel strode purposefully over to where Karl lay, flaming footsteps marking his path. Karl came through clearly, his features sharp and his words discernible.

“HA…ha…Use your last shot to take us with, huh?”

Razel cocked his head, curious but nonplussed.

“ ** _Last Shot, you say?_** ”                                                            

Karl laughed like a broken child.

“Ha! Haha…You still don’t pay any attention. How’s dying treating you?”

Razel took Karl by the mind, raising his body and looking him over calmly.

“ ** _Better than you, it would seem._ ”**

He turned and flung Karl across the room, crashing him into the stone. Razel warped next to him, his prior location sputtering with a miniature flare as he reappeared.

“ ** _Death, for me, was always an option. At least I can make sure you stay dead this time.”_**

Karl’s eyes lulled as he levitated, drawn closer to the dualist aflame. Razel’s burning grip took his collarbone, crushing and contorting the flesh to do so. Karl cried out in further agony as his body burned away, the flames growing brighter and hotter still. His last conscious sight was Razel’s disturbingly calm sockets, serene in their immolation as his energies cascaded outward, rending the world from the soul outward in a wave of complete obliteration.


	32. Report - Razel Korr | Eruption Anomaly | Case Closure

_Administrative Report_

_Re: Razel Korr | Eruption Anomaly | Case Closure_

_Filed by Tessellate Clerical Function BA42_

_Metric Year 654-068-015_

_Overview:_

_On MY 654-067-132, Liability Razel Korr [Case 1205-24] broke into our establishment, caused unrelatable amounts of property damage, and killed Karl Superior as well as several thousand researchers._

_Background:_

_Karl was busy with his personal project at the time, and as such was not prepared to deal with Razel.  Furthermore, the route we presume he took as well as his avoidance of our more patrolled routes of access suggest he had an informant within our structure. Furthermore, it is implied that Karl may have been experimenting on our Hunters without authorization or notification, a notion we should review with utmost urgency._

_Incident:_

_On MY 654-067-132, Liability Razel Korr breached the Hunter’s Causeway. He proceeded to sneak into our equipment storage and destroy a majority of our functional Planar Locks, as well as sabotaging an unknown number of devices. He then proceeded to Karl’s previously scheduled Laboratory, where he was interrupted by Dr. Kern and led to the current assignment. Kern confronted Razel and was exsanguinated as a result. Razel proceeded to confront Karl, who sent his current project against him while he tried to use the prior model as support in the ensuing confrontation. Razel disarmed both of the constructs before doing the same to Karl, who fled to the Physiology Centerpoint. There Razel took a scientist hostage, threatening to dismember her as well, until our first response arrived and he released the researcher. Korr then destroyed the Planar Well, which allowed the scientists to escape. Our Hunters attempted to neutralize him, however in doing so they inadvertently initiated a Mana Eruption, similar to the incident on IPL1138 during MY 654-067-120 except exponentially more intense. It resulted in his own verified death as well as Karl’s and that of several thousand scientists. Our final tally of casualties is 9,133 individuals._

_Conclusions:_

_First and foremost, this incident unarguably proves that the Eruption Anomaly is, in fact, the same as Razel Korr. His attacks, his appearance, his knowledge, all match. That he was desperate enough to come back, coupled with his directed assault on Karl, implies some manner of unfinished business between them. Obviously we cannot ask Karl for further information; however his projects have also suggested the nature of the problem. With Karl’s documented obsession with Spark Manipulation, it stands to reason that he was in some way responsible for the Eruptions. In a way this is a clean closure to two of our high-priority cases, merging and verifying them as one individual whose demise we were able to be certain of through the viscous remnants of the spark he expelled **through** several of our multidoors. The Demiplane holding the Centerpoint is beyond repair, empty and irradiated. Still, reconnection of the multidoors is not difficult and the incident is still not the most lethal we’ve overcome. You’ll remember the prior unpleasantness with the Titan caught in our well and agree. _

_Karl’s replacement will be decided in due time, following a review from the remaining council. His projects are to be ceased and sealed immediately to prevent the possibility of further Eruption Anomalies. Our lost Hunters are being replaced as I dictate, training and assigning and ready for deployment come the morrow._

_We cannot let this incident become public knowledge. Were word to get out that we are this easy to infiltrate, there is no chance that it wouldn’t happen again, possibly with significantly worse consequences. Imagine if Razel had decided to raid the Artifice division, or the Armory. Consider if he had called Eldrazi in a hub and loosed them through our connections. Personnel aside, this incident could have ended on a significantly more sour note._

_As mentioned, we have used the Spark Identifier to analyze the remains found within the laboratories as well as connections listed in the attached document. The Centerpoint plane itself is uninhabitable. What residual sample we collected came back as a byproduct of the spark rending itself into a mass of constituent energies, the output matching the IPL1138 and Almucantara incidents in profile._

_At this time, as we have verified evidence of his very spark being destroyed, we are proceeding to close these two cases so as to better allocate our resources towards retrieving those escaped from the ARCONA. Further contact under this case will be filed without response. Should you find a need to re-open this file, you will note the appendices contain all correspondence as well as evidence and documentation thereof. I can only hope that whatever circumstance leads you to these is pleasant._


	33. Epilogue

White.

Blinding, comforting, cradling white.

Darkness.

Shadowy, chilly, freezing black.

Cycles. Black, White, Black, White.

Grey.

A fog. Thick, ephemeral, a soup of aether.

_I live?_

Thought. Messages. Consciousness resetting, coherency, logic breaking into perception and only confusing you further.

_I died?_

The grey darkens further, shadows swallowing your disembodied self.

**_Indeed you did._ **

Her billowing robe ripples out of the shade, arms slinking from between to click their red nails incessantly. Her mask is whole, her voice comforting, her presence welcome. You recall her promise, her commitment to resign you to your fate. You flare in anger, but the flash of light leaves her unaffected.

**_You are unhappy with me?_ **

_You abandoned me. You left me without guide or guardian._

**_I see through to your core, I knew it was inevitable._ **

_You did not warn me!_

**_To warn you was to worsen the time you had remaining. Would you have spent it sulking, waiting for the inevitable? Would you have looked elsewhere, caused more harm, hurt those you love even further? Or would you prefer to believe in hope, and follow that hope calmly into the abyss?_ **

You’re confused. She’s more verbose than she tends to be, yet she is entirely correct. You cannot coalesce a proper reply. Silence binds you until she speaks.

**_I have kept my promise. I am here._ **

You can’t exactly look around yourself, but you are slowly more aware of the fact that you exist. A new awareness begins to overtake you, agonizingly slowly.

_Why? Why did this happen?_

She did not have to explain, but you are grateful that she did regardless.

**_As you discerned, your duplicate became your second. Your curiosity and impulsivity led directly to the circumstances which have resulted in your death. You once asked, I believe, where Planeswalkers go when they die?_ **

You try to nod, fail due to lack of necessary appendage, and instead _feel_ your agreement as strongly as you can.

**_I will now share this with you._ **

Her cloak billows closer, wrapping around you and embracing you tightly. Silken canvas braces against your nebulous self, cradling you in her many arms. Her mask droops lower, eyes empty yet directed deep within you.

**_You have served well, my acolyte. Let me now return the favor._ **

The realm recedes, reality itself leaving you yet your awareness remaining. You know she is there, you feel her around you, but you cannot perceive beyond your knowledge and her words. Serenity resurges within you, the finality of your circumstance a stronger force than the sadness you knew to be meaningless in these places.

**_Rest for now. You have earned it._ **

You aren’t certain you agree. Your actions were selfish, badly planned, and even when there was a shadow of nobility, it was tainted towards your self-preservation. Yet somehow you hoped that your actions, intent or otherwise, effected enough positive change to at least balance your karmic register. Orzhov familiarity ensured you were wary of debts beyond death, regardless of the property owed.

**_Calm yourself. You owe nothing._ **

You listen to her, feeling the subtle warmth of her piercing through the emptiness. Her presence is the only comfort you need right now.

**_Relax, Razel…Relax and Release…_ **

As the light returns to overwhelm you, your last thought is of Ophelia, burned away by the searing white.


End file.
